


Don't I Make You Cringe?

by ohhstark



Series: bulletproof [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Established Relationship, F/M, Found Family, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Time Loop, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 01:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohhstark/pseuds/ohhstark
Summary: Nora tries to focus on the mud caked beneath her nails, the roots brushing her fingertips, the sun on her face. She tries to focus on anything but the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding in her chest, her labored breathing. Time is slipping and sliding, too fast here, too slow there. She leans back, reaches up to wipe the sweat from her brow, and finds that across from her, Mama Murphy is doing the same.“You feelin’ okay, kid?” Mama Murphy says. The words are soft at the edges, the volume of her voice allowing them privacy even in the cramped space of the community vegetable garden.It’s a question that she keeps getting asked. It’s a question she’s still not sure how to answer. The truth is, she hasn’t felt okay since Winter, since coming back. Part of her wonders if she ever will again.





	1. Lover Come Over

There is darkness and stars are wheeling overhead. There is fire and you can hear the screams from here. You trudge up an unfamiliar road, your boots scraping across the old cement. You struggle to take a breath. Your lungs are on fire, your legs struggling to keep you upright. All you can smell and taste is ash and blood and fear. You run and you run and it’s only when you crest the top of a small mountain that you see it. A great domed structure surrounded by synths of all generations. That’s when you see the stars falling, blazing bright white across the sky. You reach up and up and up, fingers outstretched as if you could pluck them from the sky. But it's then you realize those aren’t stars, they’re bombs.

They whistle through the air and when they impact, the ground quakes beneath your feet. You suck in a breath that burns and scrapes on its way down. There is not enough air. There is not enough time. It’s happening again. You are losing friends and family and too many other things to name. 

You stare in horror and red, blinding rage. 

_Not again. Not again._

Because this is what the Institute does. This is what your son does. This is what you have done. 

Murder people behind locked doors with no chance of escape.

Your legs give out and you are falling. And falling. Falling through space and time. There is no up or down, left or right. Colors rush past. There are faces you don’t know, faces you do, and always a pair of silver eyes watching you above a sad, broken edged smile. There is a roaring in your ears and a great, thundering herd in your chest. 

You can hear them. The screams. The cries for help. Your name. You reach out. As if to anchor yourself to the dead and dying around you. You tumble head over feet and then the floor is rushing up to meet you and as suddenly as you were falling, now you aren’t moving at all. There is metal beneath you and white above you. Pure, endless, blinding white. You are bound, unable to move. Unable to draw breath.

You fight against invisible constraints, but they only tighten in response. They cut into your skin, constricting you until you can feel the rush of your blood from the lacerations. The blood slides thick and warm across your skin. And when you feel fingertips following the curve of your arm, you aren’t surprised when his face looms over you. He looks the same as the day that Nick and Hancock came for you, the day that you escaped, the day you put a bullet in his head. 

He looks hungry and soft and as real as you’ve ever seen him before. He isn’t Eddie Winter as he looks down at you now. He isn’t the monster that killed your people, the man who almost killed Nick, the fool who dared to take you alive.

And when his fingers meet the sensitive skin in the crook of your elbow, you can’t help it. You stare up at him, into his hungry, soft eyes, and you can’t help imagining the things running through his mind. 

_We were meant to have more time._

You can’t move. You can’t stop it. Can’t stop the sharp pinch or the warm flood of Jet through your veins or the slow shift of time. 

Winter grins then and there is nothing soft now in those red eyes. As you watch, his lips begin to move around the words that have haunted you for weeks. 

_The things I had planned for you. Oh, the things I had planned for you._

Nora’s eyes snap open and it isn’t leather straps holding her down, but bones wrapped in mottled skin and lips at an ear and heat that is too close. Warmth that is not a comfort, but cloying. it is not Hancock that is wrapped around her. It is Eddie Winter. His ghost. The phantom raised from the dead to strike her down at last. She throws herself from the bed, her legs tangling in the sheets as she falls. Her eyes are wide in the darkness, but all she can hear is her too-loud breathing, all she can see is the thing in the bed carved from darkness and eyes that stare right through her. The shadow moves and she scrabbles backward on her hands until her back hits the wall. 

She nearly screams when a light flickers on. She throws her hands up to shield her eyes, but she is not fast enough. Even in the dark behind her eyelids, she sees the blinding white. Her stomach is rioting against her. Her chest is heaving. Her pulse is too fast, hummingbird’s wings trapped behind bones and blood and muscle, beating at the bars of her ribs to get out. 

“Nora?” a voice says. It is smooth, like honeyed whiskey and cigarettes and that last drop of Jet. There is the shuffling of sheets and then the thump of his feet hitting the rug beneath their bed. The creak of a chair from behind her. She doesn’t open her eyes, but when Hancock kneels beside her, when his fingers brush her arm, she has to fight every instinct in herself not to flinch away, not to curl into herself. She is stronger than this. She is stronger than what he made her into.

She doesn’t hear so much as feels Nick settle on her other side, his hand curling around her own. 

“Nora, you need to breathe, alright?” he says and the quiet command of his voice is what finally makes her open her eyes. The room is awash in soft yellow light, the color bleeding over their sheets, on the walls. And there are her boys crouched beside her on the floor, their faces twisted with worry, with grief and anger for a man rotting in a warehouse half a day away. 

Every night, their expressions are the same. Every night they kneel on this floor and repeat the words like a mantra, like a prayer. 

Breathe. Just breathe. 

“You have to breathe, love,” Hancock says. She looks at him and she is thrown by what she sees. He’s smiling, the curl of his lips so patient that it kills something inside of her to see him like this. She always knew he was out of this world handsome, but right now, with the yellow light and that smile and his eyes crinkled at the corners, she thinks she can add beautiful to the list of things that just aren’t fair about him. 

He takes her other hand and presses it to his chest, right over the thundering pulse of his own heart. And beyond that, the gentle rise and fall of his chest. 

“Breathe with me,” he says. Piece by piece, breath by breath, she does. She focuses on the heat that Nick is radiating, his fingers threaded between her own. Of Hancock’s mottled skin, of his smile, and that glint in his eyes. And finally, that knot inside of her loosens. That thing inside of her pushing her to run, to flee, to fly, goes slack.

“That’s it, sunshine,” Hancock says. 

He takes her hand properly now and lets it fall between them, the memory of his heartbeat still pounding against her fingers tips, and for some reason, it tugs at the remnants of that knot inside of her. It pulls the string and suddenly, she’s unraveling. 

“I’m sorry,” she says as tears spring to her eyes. She turns her head away from them, finds that she can’t look them in the face as she says it. Because she is sorry. For this night and so much more besides. Hancock’s grip on her tightens just a fraction, just enough to hurt a little. On her other side, Nick leans in until his lips brush the bare curve of her shoulder. It’s hardly a touch, it’s barely a kiss, but her blood sings with the thrill of it. It’s enough to make her turn her head towards him, enough to get her to meet his eyes, two points of molten gold. 

“You don’t need to be sorry, doll,” Nick says. 

“We just want to help you, Nor, that’s all. If you’d just talk to us -,” Hancock says. His eyes move past her to Nick and there must be something in the other man’s face that gives him pause, that choke the words in his throat. “When you’re ready. We’re here for you. Through anything.” 

She wants to believe them, but guilt curdles black and shapeless in the pit of her gut. Their understanding, their patience, is beyond anything she could have imagined. She doesn’t deserve it. She doesn’t deserve them. 

“I know that,” she says and the words are sharper than she means them, cleaving the air in the room. Her ears are ringing. They are both watching her, their expressions falling at the sudden shift in her mood. For their sakes, she tries to reign it in. Tries to push the sudden, visceral rage down, down, down. 

She swallows, takes a deep breath. The thing inside her quiets, the raging fire dying to embers in her chest. Waiting, always waiting, but quiet for the moment.

“I know that.” And this time, the words are quiet, smooth. She isn’t good at this anymore. Being soft and unguarded. She’s all hard, jagged edges now. She’s a fucking husk, a shadow of the woman they love. It’s true she doesn’t deserve them. She hasn’t earned their support, their understanding, their love. But the sick truth is she’s also too selfish to push them away. She wants them here with her. She needs them. 

So she squeezes their hands and tries. For their sakes. For her own. She doesn’t know anymore but does it really matter when the result is the same?

“It’s hard to put into words what he did. What I’m feeling. It almost - it almost feels like I’m constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like he could stroll through the front gates of Sanctuary and just blow us all away at any moment. I know he’s dead, I know that, but there’s some small part of me that might not ever believe it.”

“Well,” Nick begins and when she turns to look at him, there’s a smile on his face and mischief in his eyes. “I wouldn’t complain about having to kill him again. Maybe the third time’s the charm.” 

It startles a laugh from her and she’s almost tempted to take back her hands to cover her mouth, but the expression on both of their faces is worth it. 

“Can we make him suffer a little? That shithead still has a lot to answer for,” a new voice says from the doorway. Nora stiffens, muscles tensing. But then Hancock looks up at the figure standing in the doorway, and she knows it’s okay. She knows, but her body doesn’t. She looks over, feeling like a deer in headlights. She loosens a breath when she sees it’s just Caleb. His dark hair is mussed, the cowlick at the crown of his head is even more pronounced from the tossing and turning he’d done in bed. His golden brown skin is pale and wane. She frowns at the darkened bruise-like circles under his eyes. He looks like he’d slept about as well as she did. 

Still, she manages a smile for him and when he sees that, he comes in and sits down on the floor with them, looking as at home as he could be with a little grin on his face. He wasn’t what she’d expected him to be. Now that he was out of that warehouse, his smiles came easier. He played with Dogmeat and showed an appreciation for hard work that had endeared him to nearly everyone in Sanctuary, including Marcy Long, and especially to Preston, who had taken the boy under his wing and started showing him how to handle a gun. It hurt to think of Caleb as just another soldier in her army, but she knew that he needed to be able to defend himself if anyone else decided to launch an attack against the Minutemen, against her. Especially with the threat of having to destroy the Institute hanging over her head. Again.

“...trying to sleep around here. I could sleep through a Mirelurk attack, but you guys are loud,” Caleb was saying. Nora shook her head, tuning herself back into the conversation. Hancock laughed, clapping Caleb on the shoulder with a shit-eating grin. 

“Can you believe this kid? Such sass. Wonder where he gets that from?” 

“Mhm,” Nick hums, a grin on his face too as he regards the conspiratorial looks between the ghoul and the boy, “I wonder.” 

She chuckles at that and shifts so she can press herself more into Nick’s side. He lets go of her hand to tuck his arm around her shoulders. She’s glad for the warm, heavy press of him. She’s glad for the weight of his arm tethering her to him and Hancock and Caleb. Her little makeshift family. 

And she’s glad for this small respite from it all, this room of theirs bathed in golden light with the warmth of their smiles filling up her heart. There will be time to think about the Institute. There will be time to think about what she will do about the Jet. There will be time for plotting and strategizing and scheming. For now, just for now, she lets herself be. For now, she smiles and thinks.

_I could get used to this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm back on round two of this fic. I know I've already explained all of this, but for any new readers I might get....I posted this story before under the same name and it was taking a turn that I wasn't liking at all. It didn't fit with the conclusion I was trying to build for these characters and it makes me scared thinking where it might have gone. I have no idea and that's why I cut the project short and decided on a re-write. 
> 
> So here we are. I hope you guys enjoy. Happy reading and please let me know what you think in the comments, even if it's just a line or two. Thank you guys! All the love. <3


	2. Break Me Down To Dust

Nora pushes herself as long as she can. She buries her hands up to her wrists in the dirt to hide the shakes. And she’s hard at work so no one bats an eye at the sweat covering her. What’s harder to hide is her chattering teeth, her racing thoughts, the reflex to heave when she moves too fast and sends her stomach rolling. 

She tries to focus on the mud caked beneath her nails, the roots brushing her fingertips, the sun on her face. She tries to focus on anything but the rush of blood in her ears, the pounding in her chest, her labored breathing. Time is slipping and sliding, too fast here, too slow there. She leans back, reaches up to wipe the sweat from her brow, and finds that across from her, Mama Murphy is doing the same. 

It’s just her luck that Mama Murphy is working in the vegetable garden today too. She can feel the older woman’s eyes on her even now as she takes a moment to breathe, to settle her stomach and the headache that’s slowly, slowly throbbing at her temple.

“You feelin’ okay, kid?” Mama Murphy says. The words are soft at the edges, the volume of her voice allowing them privacy even in the cramped space of the community vegetable garden. 

It’s a question that she keeps getting asked. It’s a question she’s still not sure how to answer. The truth is, she hasn’t felt okay since Winter, since coming back. Part of her wonders if she ever will again. 

“You will,” Mama Murphy says and when Nora looks up at her, confusion and fear settling in her heart, she knows that, somehow, Mama Murphy is answering the question she can’t bear to ask even herself. Her smile is sad, but her eyes are shining. There’s some part of her expression that Nora doesn’t understand. Maybe she doesn’t want to understand. Knowing what’s been done to her, knowing that there was nothing she could have done to change it, is terrifying. But the true root of her fear comes from knowing that there is possibility now. There are so many paths forking ahead of her, all of them leading to conclusions she hasn’t stopped to entertain yet. All of them are open to her, she just has to choose one and set out on the road. 

“You know, kid, if you’d told me once that I wouldn’t need chems to use the Sight, I wouldn’t have believed you. Hell, some days I wake up and still get a wicked craving for Mentats, but it passes. This will too. You can’t see it yet, but it will,” Mama Murphy tells her with a smile that’s soft enough to ache inside of her. She wants to believe her, she wants to so badly, she can almost taste it in her mouth, but the older woman is right. She can’t see it. She can’t see a world where she doesn’t have to wake up to nightmares, where she can’t go a full day without taking a hit of Jet, where things will go back to how they were before Winter, before the terrible weight of her own son’s actions settled on her shoulders. 

Not yet. 

Paths and possibilities. 

Not yet. 

“I just can’t find my way out of it,” she says, turning her eyes towards the river, towards the little stash of drugs she’s been hoarding for the past month. Mama Murphy grabs her hand. Her warm, dirt-covered fingers squeeze her own. The touch is there and gone, but it’s been burned into her skin, her nerve endings singing with the memory.

“Sometimes to move forward, you only have to look back.” And there’s something about those words that tug at her heart, something that sends a spear of pain and hope and anger and clarity all at once through her. 

***

If only things were that simple. If only it were as easy as looking back at herself, confronting what had happened to her, because of her, over the past few months. If only. 

The thing is she can’t. Not today. She’s hunched over her stash, every inch of her shaking, her muscles and nerves on fire in the throes of withdrawal. She hates the drugs, she hates herself for letting it go on this long, but what is there for her to do? 

_Tell someone,_ says a voice in her head. 

_Tell them. Get help._ Says another. 

But she can’t. Who is there to tell but the two people she wouldn’t have made it this far without? Then she’d have to tell them about what happened to her, she’d have to tell them about using Hancock to get Jet, about lying to them for weeks about where she went off to sometimes without saying much of anything. She’d have to give them the entire truth. She’d have to watch their faces fall. She would have to face their disappointment, their disgust, and she couldn’t do that. 

There is something broken inside of her, something wired not quite right since escaping that warehouse. And telling them, owning up to the lying and thieving and sneaking around, that would ruin her. 

So here she is. Fingers poised over the loose bricks where she’s been hiding the canisters. Her heart racing and her breath shaking out of her. And just when the tips of her fingers brush against the stone, she hears footsteps and a deep, familiar voice call out her name. 

Not her name. Her title. 

“General?” Preston says as he makes his way down the hill towards her. Her hand slips and she turns, a smile plastered on her face. 

“Hey, Preston,” she says. Black threatens the corners of her vision. The world feels like it’s spinning around her.

“General, we received word from the Railroad. It’s Deacon. He’s got some news for you apparently. Wouldn’t say what it was over the radio.” She sighs, her legs feeling more and more like weights dragging her down into the depths as she turns to walk back to Sanctuary proper with Preston. 

“I’m guessing he wants me to meet him.” 

“Yes, General. He told me to tell you ‘go where the androids dream of electric sheep.’ He said you’d know what that means,” Preston explained, shifting the rifle slung over his shoulder. He looks confused and there are questions in his eyes that she can’t answer. Questions that she won’t answer. 

“Yeah,” she says, her mouth going dry. She clears her throat, her fingers curling in on themselves in a vain effort to stop her hands from shaking. “Did he say when he’d be expecting me?”

“He said he’d be around for the next couple of days. He knows you’ve got a lot going on,” Preston says and there’s something so careful in his speech, in the spaces between his words, that catches her off guard. Does he know something? Do they all know about what she’s been sneaking off to do? 

She watches him now as they walk, taking note of the way he won’t look at her, of his mouth pulled down at the corners, and the way he keeps shifting his rifle. There’s no way he could know, no way that any of them could possibly know, but here they are. 

“Speaking of,” he continues, “I also got word from Blake Abernathy.”

Part of her wonders how easy it would be to tell Blake and the rest of them to fuck off. Part of her is so tired and so sick of apparently being the only person in the Commonwealth capable of lending a helping hand to her settlements. And in the next moment, she feels sick to her stomach at the turn of her own thoughts. These are her people. It isn’t fair that she takes out her shit on them, and Blake is a good man. He doesn’t deserve it. None of them do. 

“What’s the word?” she says instead of any number of things she _could _say. She’s as surprised as anyone by the steadiness of the words.__

__“He mentioned some ghouls, but he didn’t get any more specific.”_ _

__“Right,” she says, fingers twitching and her mind already moving on how she might grab a canister before she heads out. She’s already gone too long without a hit._ _

__“I expect you’ll be heading out right away?” Preston says as they crest the hill, as they walk past the vegetable garden, as he steers her right to her front door. A cow penned in for the slaughter. Her stomach rolls anew at that. She shoves her hands in her pockets to hide the shaking._ _

__“I think I probably should,” she says, mentally mapping out the next few days. “I might as well stop by Abernathy Farm while I’m out. I think I’ll take care of that and then go to meet Deacon.”_ _

__It’s as close as she can get to giving an indication as to where she might be going. She knows it’s dangerous, not telling Preston where she’s meeting Deacon. But it’s not her secret to tell. She can’t betray his trust like that._ _

__“Sounds like a plan,” Preston says with a nod. He gets it. No questions asked, no strings attached._ _

__“Would you mind sending Nick and Hancock this way when you see them? I’ll start packing,” she says._ _

__“Of course, General,” Preston says and she hears the shift of his boots against the gravel and knows he’s gone off to find them and something in her tugs her forward. Makes her grab his arm. He turns toward her and she isn’t imagining it, there is something lingering in his dark eyes, not disgust or disappointment or even anger, but trust and unyielding patience. So many things have changed in the past few months, but this at least has stayed the same._ _

__“Promise me you’ll look out for him,” she says. She doesn’t bother using names, but he knows all the same. He nods, those same eyes turning soft and understanding._ _

__“You have my word, Nora,” he says. And that is all there is left to say, until. A gentle brush of warm fingers on the curve of her shoulder. She looks up into his eyes and it’s the most serious she’s ever seen him. Something inside her twists, dread and hope fluttering like twin heart beats within her._ _

__“You make sure you come back to us,” he says and it’s not a request, not really. It’s an order. The first he’s ever dared to give her. She nods and those heartbeats surge together, ribboning up and up and up and forcing her to say the words he needs to hear. The ones she needs to get out._ _

__“You have my word, Preston.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos to anyone for guessing where the chapter title comes from. :)
> 
> Also, yay, new chapter! I know it's a bit late, but I've been hard at work on chapter 6 and I had to do some fiddling with this chapter for it to fit better into the narrative, so there we are. 
> 
> Thank you guys for all the love for this fic, I know it's been touch and go from a long time, but I swear this story is going to stick lol. I'm desperately trying to finish it before NANO this year, but I'm not sure if that's going to happen. I'm just hoping that I'll have enough chapters written to keep posting during NANO if it comes to that lol. We'll see and I'll keep you all updated. 
> 
> As always, I would love to hear what you think of this chapter, even if it's just a line. <3 <3


	3. leave your bags in the car, keep it running

When Hancock hears the words that come out of Preston Garvey’s mouth, it takes everything inside of him not to fly off the handle. He likes to think he isn’t an angry man by nature. He has his moments. Everyone has their moments, but he isn’t the sort to blow up over nothing. Not like his old man. Never like him. But these days, angry is all he ever seems to be. It’s always brewing just beneath his skin, festering in his heart, burning quicksilver in the tips of his fingers. It’s all over him, coloring every second of his day. And this, _this_ takes the fucking cake. 

He stomps towards their house and has to physically hold himself back from barreling through the door. Instead, he grips the doorframe. Grips it hard enough to hear the wood and metal groaning beneath the force of his hands. 

“John?” Nick’s voice washes over him like a balm. Like a cool drink of water during the hottest part of the day. He’d nearly forgotten Nick was with him. And the worry in Nick’s voice makes his shoulders go slack, the fight rushing out of him and leaving him with nothing but a mad desire to curl around himself and cry.

“Nick,” he says, breath barely above a whisper. He wasn’t made for this. He’s seen a lot of fucked up shit in his time. He’s done a lot of fucked up shit in his time. But this, he doesn’t know how to deal with this. 

“Hey, come here,” Nick is saying and it’s only when he’s turned around and in the other man's arms that he realizes how hard he’s shaking. 

“Fucking hell,” he says, fingers twisting into the folds of Nick’s coat. “I’m sorry, Nick. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Nick says, holding onto him just as tightly.“We’re all hanging on by a thread. I get it.”

And God, there it is. He is hanging on by a thread. A tenuous strand that only grows thinner and thinner every day. He loves Nora. He loves Nick. He loves the life they’ve scraped together, but it all feels so fragile now, like one wrong move from any of them will topple it. 

“I just can’t believe she wants to go out there again,” John says now, the words forming before he can stop them. He feels like he has to explain. “That bastard had her for over a month. She can't even tell us what he did to her and now she wants to rush back out there again.” 

He’s burning up, his skin is on fire, and he knows the words are coming out all wrong. Or maybe they’re coming out all right because something loosens inside of him. A knot unraveling in his chest, his heart pounding with fury. He thinks of the way she’d looked at him a few mornings ago, falling out of bed and scrambling away from him like he was a monster from her own nightmares. He thinks of her shaking hand slipping inside his coat all those weeks ago. And he thinks of the weeks since. When did everything get so fucked?

“I'm scared, Nick. I'm so fucking scared all the time that one of these days I'm gonna wake up and she'll be gone. She's killing herself and I don't know how to stop it. And now she wants to throw herself back out into the ‘Wealth the moment trouble comes to call. I don't know what to do, Nick." He finishes and by the end, he feels winded. He sucks in a breath and when he pulls away to look Nick in the face, he almost feels bad about his little speech. He’s been holding this in for a month, stewing over and over the things that are rattling around in his heart. And the truth is, he’s tired. He’s so tired. He misses her and he’s sick of missing her because she’s right here. She’s right here, but he doesn’t know how to help her and it tears him up every second of every God damned day. 

A breath rushes out of his when Nick cups the side of his face. His eyes find Nick’s in the bright afternoon sun and if he swears if he had any breath left in his lungs, he’d spend it on this. He’s known Nick for a long time and he’s never seen this expression on his face before. Not when he stopped talking to him all those years ago. Not when they lost Nora. It’s all jagged, broken edges. It’s all there, laid bare before him, a perfect echo of the things trapped inside of himself. 

“I know it’s hard right now. I know it is. But we swore to each other we would bring her back. We can’t give up on her,” Nick says, “Tell me even after all of this, you don’t still love her.” 

“Nick…” John says, his voice throat closing up as his eyes start to sting. He wants to look away, he wants to be anywhere but here, trapped against this door with Nick’s heat pouring over him. But he can’t look away and he is here. And there is nothing but to stare up into the truth.

“Tell me you don’t still love her,” Nick says again, his tone turned lost and desperate.

“You know I do,” he finally manages. The words fall like rain between them. It washes away the sharp edges and the barbed tips of pain enough that they become a little easier to breathe around. 

“Then we can’t give up on her,” Nick says and leans forward to capture John’s lips in a kiss that sends his blood racing. And as suddenly as he wants to escape, he finds himself tugging Nick closer until there isn’t an inch of space between them. It’s so easy to forget, to lose himself in the way that Nick’s fingers curl against the nape of his neck, of the heat. Desire chases away the dark things captured in his chest and he finds himself nodding even before Nick pulls away.

“Okay,” he says when he’s caught his breath again. Nick’s answering smile pulls at those jagged edges, wrenches him open until he’s vulnerable and raw and bleeding out. He’s fucking terrified, but that single word is a promise and he never goes back on his promises.

***

By the time they get on the road, it’s almost sunset. She stares at the horizon line as she tries not to think about the little boy they’d left at the gate with tears running tracks down his face. She tries not to think about the way John won’t look at her, tries not to think about the way that Nick won’t stop looking at her. 

She hates the oppressive, tense silence between the three of them and she hates most of all the fact that she can’t break it. She opens her mouth once, twice, three times to say something, anything at all, but the words refuse to come. She purses her lips, her fingers shaking where she’s holding onto the straps of her pack. 

She already has a headache and her legs feel all wrong, like they might give out on her at any minute. Still, she feels a slight ease of pressure in her chest when first Sanctuary, and later down the road, Red Rocket, disappear behind them, leaving nothing but sky and rolling hills and the gentle hum of insects in the air. She’s always loved this part of venturing out into the ‘Wealth. Up close, everything seems so immediate and terrifying, but like this, with the proverbial world spread out before them, anything is possible and it’s so easy to forget that happy travels are a thing of the past.

“So where are we headed on this beautiful afternoon?” John’s voice rings out ahead of them, dragging her back out of her own thoughts. He sounds off, not quite sad, not quite angry, but something trapped in between. He’d been like that ever since he and Nick came back to the house while she was packing up their bags. She doesn’t know what changed from this morning. Maybe she doesn’t really want to know.

She clears her throat, painfully aware of Nick’s eyes on her face, of his warmth just a breath away. Despite everything, it brings her enough comfort to unstick her throat, to glance around to make sure they won’t be overheard. 

“We’re headed south. First to Abernathy Farm and then to a little place the Railroad uses -,” she cuts herself off, something striking white hot through her. It’s so hard sometimes to remember that this isn’t her original story. That this is just some crazy offshoot that her son - her own son - somehow manipulated into creation. “Used as a safe house.” 

She doesn’t miss the way Hancock’s shoulders stiffen. Or the way he stops in the middle of the road, staring off into the distance, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He laughs, but it sounds strangled, hysterical, like it’s being wrenched out of some deep, dark place inside him. It makes the air around him crackle. It makes the skin on her arms stand up.

Nick’s fingers brush against the small of her back and she flinches away from him, knowing what’s coming. She deserves it, all of it, but it burns all the same. She’s just grateful he waited to do this until they were out of Caleb’s earshot.

So she waits and even though her heart is racing and the tips of her fingers are aching from holding on so tightly to the straps of her pack, she waits. The sun climbs the sky and she watches John’s shoulders rise and fall and rise again in tandem with her own accelerated breathing. He’s gearing up for a fight, she can feel it all the way down to her bones. 

There’s a part of her, a bigger part than she wants to admit even to herself, that wants the fight. She wants the adrenaline rushing through her veins, she wants the electric hum beneath her skin. She wants to look at her boys and not feel the empty, gaping hole that she’s been fighting to fill since she got back. It’s all she can do to stop herself from reaching for them, to open her mouth and finally let the story come tumbling out.

“How south we talking? Judging by the packs, we’ve got a long way to go,” John finally says. It’s not what she was expecting. It’s not at all what she was expecting and before she knows what’s happened, her stomach drops out of her. And with it, her anger and fear and sorrow. All the things that have been her constant companion for the past few months, driven away by nearly overwhelming relief. 

“It’s called Sunshine Tidings Co-Op. It’s only a couple hours south of Abernathy. Like I said, before Shaun restarted time or whatever he did, it used to be one of the Railroad safehouses. I don’t know what it is now. Maybe they made it into one again. We won’t know for sure until we get there.”

“Do you have any idea what Deacon might want to tell you?” 

“It has to be about the Railroad, but no, I have no idea.” 

A beat of silence and then Nick steps forward again and puts a hand on the small of her back. His fingers are warm and there’s a small smile on his face as he stares down at her. Her heart flutters. She doesn’t flinch away this time.

“Well, let’s not keep him waiting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, the title of this chapter is dedicated to one of my most favorite songs of all time, "Portland, Maine" by Donovan Woods. Go look it up. It's beautiful and it fits this chapter so well. 
> 
> Second of all, you guys are amazing! I've been so happy by the response so far and hopefully, you guys will continue to like this story. I'm trying so freaking hard to write this story and my muse has different ideas lol. Like I really wanted to get this thing done by NANOWRIMO, but I don't think it's going to happen. It's funny too because I'm coming up on the second anniversary of this series, which is totally bizarre and strange to think about, but also inspiring. Like two years is a long time to work on anything and even though it might not be the most perfect thing in the world, I'm still insanely proud of this project. 
> 
> I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter, even if it's just a line or two! As always, I love each and every one of you. <3 <3


	4. Lover Come Hold Me

They roll into Abernathy Farm with all the usual fanfare. She hates the too-wide smiles and she hates the list of things that are dumped into her lap. The shakes have grown progressively worse throughout the day and now, as close as everyone is to her right now, she has to shove her hands into her pockets so no one else will see. Hancock and Nick are swept up in the same tide as she is and she can see the suspicious looks that they both get and she hates that too. More than anything else she hates those looks. 

Just when she feels like she’s about to snap, she feels a hand touch her shoulder and when she turns, she finds Blake Abernathy at her side. Her rage cools, the clamor inside of her quiets even as Blake’s presence creates a protective bubble around the three of them. 

“Alright, alright, clear out.” 

The crowd disperses and she’s glad to see the back of them. Some go back to the gardens. A few wander off to the guard towers set up on the corners of the settlement. Still others go back to the various stalls she and Blake built next to the Abernathy residence.

“Thanks, Blake,” she finds herself saying as his hand slips from her shoulder. He smiles down at her in that knowing way of his, his brown eyes like burnished amber in the light from the setting sun. 

“Anything for you, Nora. You know that.” She ducks her head at that, a laugh shaking loose inside her chest. She’d always felt a certain kinship with the man, even in that first life, before she’d found out the truth about Shaun. And she feels it again now, stronger than ever. 

“We heard you’ve been having ghoul troubles,” Nick says. 

“Yeah, they’ve been wandering out of that old Wicked Shipping warehouse for the last couple of days. Don’t know what riled ‘em up, but I nearly lost Connie a couple of days ago when they came over this way.” 

“Oh, Blake, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. That’s just the world isn’t it? I put off calling you in as long as I could. I wish I didn’t have to.”

“You made the right call, Blake, and I appreciate you trying to save me the trouble, but it’s not worth settlers putting their lives on the line. You know you can always call me.”

“That’s why I didn’t want to call you,” Blake says, giving her a look that she can’t quite figure out.

“What do you mean?”

He sighs and she can see him glancing over her shoulders at Nick and John who have stayed silent throughout this entire exchange. She doesn’t know what he must see on their faces. Part of her doesn’t want to know. 

“It means that you give too much, Nora. You’re always throwing yourself into the thick of things for other people and you never ask for anything back. What happened with our people, what that asshole did...there’s always people waiting to exploit that kind of thing here. All I’m saying is our lives aren’t worth you dying for either. Without you, we’d all be done for, so just take care of yourself tomorrow.”

It’s the longest speech she’s ever heard Blake give and the words spark something inside of her. That’s the thing. She never knows what will set her off these days, but this, the brutal reminder of what happens to people when she fails them, well it guts her. 

Her vision turns foggy and she has to duck her head as she wipes at her eyes. Her skin starts to itch and suddenly, she wants nothing more than to turn tail and run. She hasn’t cried in front of any of her settlers since she got back. She’s made it a point not to, but here she is. Exposing herself. Bearing herself open for all of them to see. 

And part of her wants to close herself off. Part of her is rioting against the idea of being vulnerable like that again. But there is a quieter part of her that wants to give in, that is so fucking tired of being the rock that holds the Minutemen upright. That is so tired of holding herself upright. 

It’s then that she remembers what happened on the road, that moment she’d had of wanting to give in and tell John and Nick the truth. She remembers the rush of adrenaline and the buzz beneath her skin and her blood boiling in her veins. She had felt so alive. She’d felt...she’d felt almost like her old self again. And she feels that way again now. Exposing herself, ripping herself raw on the memories of everything that has happened to her, maybe that is the only way to move forward. Maybe that is the only way she can get better. 

_Sometimes to move forward, you only have to look back._

She smiles and makes a promise to figure out how to bake Mama Murphy the biggest cake when they get back to Sanctuary. Mind made up, she wipes her eyes with the end of her sleeve. 

“That means a lot coming from you, Blake,” she says. She motions at the setting sun in the distance. “Speaking of, you mind if we bugger off to one of the spare houses? We should get some sleep before we do this thing tomorrow.”

“Of course. You can use this one over here. It might be a little cramped.”

“Cramped is fine. As long as there’s a door, we’ll manage.”

Blake leads them to one of the empty houses on the border of the property, for which she is grateful. For what she has to do, she wants there to be as little chance of being overheard as possible. Nick and Hancock go up the stairs and into the house. Nora hangs back for a second, glancing over Blake’s shoulder to make sure they won’t be overheard. But all of the settlers are minding their own business for once.

“Thank you again for all those things you said.”

“Every word of it was true. You remind me a lot of my Mary, God rest her soul. I just...I worry about you,” Blake says, squeezing her shoulder a little too hard. She can see the tears forming in his eyes at his admission and ducks her head to give him a moment of privacy. He chuckles as his hand slips away to wipe at his eyes. When she looks back at him, his eyes are clear, but the furrow between his brows is deeper than she’s ever seen it. She knows she has to say something, anything, to make him feel better about all of it. He doesn’t want to be a burden on her as much as she doesn’t want to be a burden on him, on any of them. 

“I can’t stop helping people, it’s just who I am. But I promise we’ll be careful tomorrow. Make sure somebody’s on the radio just in case we need backup.” 

He nods, his face relaxing at her assurances. 

“Will, do, General,” he says with a mocking little salute before taking his leave. She grins, her heart lighter than it has any right to be as she turns and heads up the stairs after her boys.

***

“Blake wasn’t kidding about this place,” Nick says, glancing around at their temporary lodgings. It isn’t much to look at. There’s a bed mashed up against the corner and two sofa chairs opposite that. There’s also a dresser that looks like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to it. 

John pushes past him to sink into one of the chairs. 

“No, shit, good thing we all like each other,” he replies, gaining him a rueful smile from the synth. 

“I don’t know if we’ll like each other much after tonight,” Nora says as she steps up into the room too. Since this morning, he’s felt sick to his stomach thinking about all the things he said to Nick about her. That’s why he’d been avoiding looking at her all day, but she catches him by surprise this time and it’s like now that she’s got his attention, he can’t turn away. She looks lighter than she has in months, her eyes shining and her lips curved in an almost-smile that makes him want to kiss her. 

“I don’t know, sister,” he drawls, because he can’t help himself. “I kind of like the idea of being squished between the two of you on that bed.”

He watches Nora’s breath hitch, watches her eyes fly away from him and Nick, watches the blush creep across the bridge of her nose. He watches one of Nick’s hands curl into a fist and he knows the synth sees it too. 

“What makes you think you’d get to be in the middle?” Nick’s gravely voice fills the shack. The other man turns to look at him and when their eyes meet, John’s heart skips a beat. They’ve never talked about it, he’d never really considered the idea that Nick might want to have sex, let alone _could._ But his mind seems to be making up for all that lost time now and is suddenly filled with all sorts of images that make him want to adjust his pants. 

Nick clears his throat pointedly, and John can only smirk at him beneath the rim of his tricorn. Nora’s entire face is red as she pushes past Nick and sinks shakily into the other armchair. He’s not sure if she’s all jittery because she’s turned on or because she hasn’t had a hit in almost three days. It may be a combination of both, but he should probably say something before they leave tomorrow. He won’t let her go into a firefight like that. He can’t. For her sake and theirs. 

“You okay, Nora?”

She raises a hand and runs it through her hair, pushing it out of her face and behind her ears. Something white-hot lances through him when he realizes how young she looks all of a sudden, how vulnerable. She takes a breath and he can see the way she steels herself. She pushes back her shoulders on the exhale. She lifts her chin and stares at them both with determination in her gaze.

“Before we get swept up again with the ghouls at Wicked Shipping and then whatever the hell Deacon is going to drag us into, I wanted to…well, I wanted to come clean about something.”

And just like that, it’s there. The elephant in the room. The unspoken thing that they’ve all been tiptoeing around. The air is suddenly filled with tension and he almost wishes he could take a hit of Jet himself just to calm his nerves a little. Still, he’d sworn off the hard stuff since the day she got out of that warehouse and he’d give it up again in a heartbeat if it meant chasing the shadows out of her green eyes.

“You sure you want to have this conversation now, Nora? Here?” Nick says from where he’s sat down on the bed, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, unlit and ignored in favor of studying the woman across from him. 

“If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I do,” she says and he can feel the shifting tension in the air. It writhes and twists between them in the small space, a buzz running the length of his ruined skin. “But, I have to do this. If I don’t, I don’t think I’ll ever get it out.”

“Well, alright,” Nick says as he lights his cigarette. The tip flares orange and red and Hancock has to curl his fingers into his palms as some of that desire comes creeping back down his spine. Nick’s eyes look like melted gold in the oncoming darkness. With a resigned, heavy sigh, he reaches towards the side table by the bed and switches on the lamp. Pale yellow light fills the room. 

“I don’t really know where to start,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh that twists something in his chest. She’s looking off to the side, her hands twisting in and in on themselves. And suddenly, part of him doesn’t want her to continue. Part of him wants to stay in the relative safety of ignorance they’ve made their home out of since she came back. Even though he and Nick know, they don’t know the why of it, and that’s the part that scares him the most. 

But as always, Nick seems to know just the thing to say. He leans forward to settle his hand over hers. He squeezes them once, making sure that she looks up at him before saying anything. 

“This isn’t an interrogation, okay? We’re having a conversation. Take your time with it. This might not be solved in a night and that’s okay. We’re here with you, Nora. We always were.”

He leans back and smoke trails after him, leaking out between the exposed metal and synthetic skin in his neck. Nora tries to smile at his attempt to reassure her, but she just looks terrified. It’s not a look he’s overly fond of. 

“Okay,” she says. She’s settling into the armchair, making sure to slip off her shoes before she pulls her legs up to her chest. Even from where he is, he can see her shaking hands, can hear the labored, panicked breathing. But she’s still here, she hasn’t taken off, and he’ll take what he can get at this point as far as miracles go. 

“Okay,” she says again. She isn’t looking at either of them, but some nebulous space between them, her gaze distant and glazed. “I’m sure you’ve already guessed or found out somehow, but I’ve been taking Jet. Winter got me addicted to it while he had me. I don’t know why. I think he was trying to break me. And it…” 

_It worked._

She doesn’t say that, or won’t, but it’s there anyway, and he feels it again. That impossible rage, the sudden, frightening need to bring Eddie Winter back so he can rip his head off with his bare hands. He hates him, he hates Shaun for starting this shit in the first place and messing with things he didn’t understand. 

And that rage only swells inside of him when that watery, painful laugh trips past her trembling mouth like she can’t hold it in any longer. Like she’s giving up pretending that she’s anything close to okay. It’s painful to breathe around the truth that’s been staring him right in the face for weeks, months, maybe longer. 

“I know it might mean anything to you, but I’m sorry. It worked and I’m so pissed at myself for making it so fucking easy for him. And I’m sorry that I did because if I hadn’t, then we wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I think I got out of that shit hole and I just didn’t want to deal with anything for a while and maybe I was scared to anyway because my own son brought back a monster just to get at me. And I have no idea _why_.” 

The words are tumbling out of her. Faster and faster in time with the frantic beats of his heart. 

“And it doesn’t make it right. I said goodbye to Shaun a long time ago and I thought it was done with, but all this shit with Winter brought it all up again. I don’t know what the Jet he was giving me was laced with, but it made me see things. I had these nightmares about Shaun and about Caleb and about both of you. And I wanted to tell you,” she says, finally looking up at them both. Her eyes are shining with unshed tears and the expression on her face is so open, so raw, that he almost can’t stand to look at her. He can see how hurt she is, how lost and terrified, and it scares him because he feels it too. And he knows that Nick does too. 

“I wanted to tell you when you got me out. I’ve wanted to tell you every day since. I was just too scared of how you would react. I wasn’t ready to face it. I didn’t want to...I didn’t want to lose you. Either of you. I can’t do this on my own. I can’t do it without you. And it’s unfair of me to put that on you, I know that, but it’s true. Everything that’s happened with Winter and the time experiments, all of it, I never would have been able to make it through without you two.”

He reaches for her then. He touches her hand and doesn’t wait before threading his fingers through hers. Her hands are still shaking and her palm is sticky with sweat, but he does it anyway because the idea of not touching her right now is impossible. 

“Hey,” he says, watching the way she nearly folds into herself at his touch. “Nor, look at me.” 

It takes a moment, and when she does, the tears are running tracks down her face now, and he almost, almost wants to look away himself. 

“The last few months have been fucked and yeah, I won’t lie to you. I think you jumping back into this shit is going to do more harm than good, but if you’re ready for it, then there’s nothing that’s going to hold you back, us included,” he says, glancing over his shoulder at Nick. The bed is close enough that all Nick has to do is lean forward to set that metal hand of his on her leg. With the other, he reaches out to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. Nick locks eyes with her and it’s like all she can see is him. At one time, that look would have made him jealous. Hell, it had made him jealous when they first strolled into Goodneighbor, but now it makes him hot and bothered for all sorts of other reasons.

“We know about the drugs. We’ve known since you swiped the Jet off Hancock.”

The reaction that gets out of her is visceral and sudden and she looks almost feral as her eyes search their faces. 

“Why-why didn’t you say anything?” she says, volume bordering on something just shy of hysterical. 

“How could we? Would you really have listened to anything we had to say about it even a few days ago?” Nick says. His tone is full of frustration and sorrow and John watches her shoulders fall, the tension rushing out of her as suddenly as it had appeared. 

“You’re-you’re right, I wouldn’t have listened to you. Either of you,” she admits. He squeezes her hand, unsure of how to get rid of that look on her face. Resignation and self-hatred and remorse all wrapped up in one.

“But you’re listening to us now,” John says and he’s not sure why it sounds like a statement and a question all at once, but she nods all the same. He and Nick let out the same breath of relief.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Nick says, squeezing her fingers with a smile that’s fond and full of understanding and love. It makes his heart beat just a little faster, just seeing it. “Be better.”

“Will you…” she trails off, glancing between them both. Her cheeks fill with color. After all of this, he isn’t sure what she has to be embarrassed about now, but his heart swells at the sight of it. “Will you help me?”

“Do you really have to ask?” Nick says. 

“No,” she says. “No, I guess I don’t.”

“You don’t,” he says, because she doesn't, and he doesn't know where the idea came from that she had to. The look in her eyes is softer now and full of hope. He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand. God, but he loves her and he wishes she knew just how much. 

“You know,” Nick drawls as he lights another cigarette, “After all this shit is done with, we need to take a vacation. Just us and Caleb.”

“I don’t know, Nick,” she says, “I don’t think I’ll have enough PTO for that.” 

Nick’s bark of laughter is enough to make her grin and even though he doesn’t know what they’re talking about it, John grins too. 

“Enough of the Old World inside jokes,” he says good-naturedly as he takes the offered cigarette from Nick’s hand. Nora takes hers too and the silence that follows as they all take long drags isn’t awkward or filled with tension. It’s comfortable, easy, at last.

“Where would we even go? Vacations won’t be like they used to. The water’s filled with radiation, so the beach is out. There’s no amusement parks left standing, at least none that I know of. What else is there to do for a vacation these days?”

“I do have a settlement cleared out that I haven’t done anything with yet. It’s called Coastal Cottage. It’s up north on the very edge of the Commonwealth. It’s near the water, but not close enough that we have to worry about Mirelurks or anything. We could go there for a few days and just relax. We could bring some board games and I have my Pip Boy. Caleb is addicted to Zeta Invaders. He can entertain himself for hours with that.”

“He’d do nothing but play Zeta Invaders if we let him,” Nick chuckles, smoke escaping through the exposed metal and wires in the side of his face. 

“That’s true.”

“So is that what we’re gonna do? See what Deacon wants, take you to Doctor Amari, get you clean, then go defeat the bad guy again?” 

It seems so simple when Nick lays it all out like that. With Addictol, it seems simple, but he’s never really known anyone who was addicted to drugs who wanted to get clean. He doesn’t know what sort of side effects there may be, he doesn’t know if the cravings will still be there even without the shakes and the sweats and the vomiting. 

He doesn’t know, but there’s still a smile tugging at Nora’s lips and her eyes are shining with real hope now rather than tears, so he thinks if anyone could make it so simple, it would be her.

“Yeah,” she says finally as she takes a long drag of her cigarette, “I think that’s the plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!
> 
> Suffice to say that the last two months have been the freaking worst, hence why I have not been posting. But I wanted to thank each and every person who's followed this story from the beginning and continue to do so. I can't believe I've been writing this for two years now. It feels so surreal. Here's to another year of writing this fic. Hopefully, it won't take that long lol. 
> 
> <3 <3


	5. Take Its Toll, My Foolish Pride

There is darkness and stars are wheeling overhead. You have been here before. Fog swirls about your legs as you run, the looming trees guiding your path up the mountain. The screams of the dying urge you onward, upward, but there is a dark, twisting mass inside of your stomach. In the darkness, you see animals ahead of you fleeing across the road. The dim, muted green light of an irradiated Radroach, the long stride of a two-headed Radstag, the bellow of something large and scaly that you don’t have a name for lurking just beyond the fog. 

Your lungs are on fire, your legs are trembling with fatigue, but you push yourself to reach the mountaintop before the bombs drop. They have to be warned. You have to help. 

A moment later, you clear the fog. Wisps cling to your clothes. Reaching, grasping at you as if it would pull you back past the safety of whatever invisible barrier you’ve met, before finally falling away and receding back into the dark. You stand at the edge of this new world. It is intact and safe, though you have to wonder what is different this time? 

You turn, eyes searching the vicinity, your fingers itching for a chance to wield your pistol, and then you see it. A figure watching you from the shadows of the great domed structure, thrown in sharp relief by the waning gibbous moon hanging in the cloudless sky. 

Your fingers itch some more. There is a buzzing at the back of your mind that something is not right, but you push on, shoving your doubts away. You came here for a purpose. You have to help these people. 

It is a short walk up the gentle incline to a set of old, rickety metal stairs. The figure doesn’t move, doesn’t even acknowledge your presence. Now that you are closer, you can see their silver eyes glowing in the dark. It’s eerie, but there is something oddly familiar about those eyes that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You hesitate at the bottom of the stairs. You grip the railing with one foot propped up on the first step. It feels like that first step outside of Vault 111. It feels like every time you’ve walked into a building that you used to know in your other life, the one without breath laced with radiation, the one with picket fences and fresh brewed coffee and dresses that swirled about your legs as you danced. It is the feeling of free-fall as you take a step off the edge and plummet down, down, down, body heavy with adrenaline, anticipation, fear. 

“You cannot go back,” the figure says, voice soft, light, but familiar somehow. You turn to look at them, but they are not in the same place. They are at the top of the stairs now, looking down at you with those piercing silver eyes. “Once you start down this path, you cannot stop.”

You have so many questions. 

_Why. Why. Why._

The figure smiles, teeth flashing once in the darkness. Like they can hear your thoughts. 

Your fingers tighten on the railing, ready to pull your weight up the stairs. Ready to take that dive off the edge. Ready in so many ways to take the plunge. But as you fill your lungs with air, the words resting on the flat of your tongue, gaze trained on the silver eyes looking down at you. 

You blink.

And the sight that greets Nora is not what she expects. The small, cramped house is bathed in soft golden light, motes of dust floating through the air. It is quiet. It must be very early. There is a warm weight wrapped around her waist and she is so tempted to scoot backward into Hancock’s arms, close her eyes, and go back to sleep. She is so much more than tempted, but then she sees the open door and Nick sitting on the top step. Smoke curls in the air around his head like a halo. She slips out from under John’s arm and kisses him when his face scrunches up in confusion. 

“Where you slippin’ off to?” he mumbles, half reaching for her even as she straightens, grinning down at him. 

“Just need to talk to a man about a cigarette,” she says. Hancock mumbles incoherently and she knows he’s going to slip off to sleep again. 

She turns around and her stomach flips when she sees Nick looking at them both with a fond smile and a glint in his eyes. He pats the step beside him and she slips out of the house, sinking down onto the stairs with him. He passes the cigarette to her. She takes a long, slow drag and it burns all the way down her throat, twisting in her lungs. It’s a good burn. Not unlike the sensation she has when she takes a hit of Jet. 

“Sleep well?” Nick asks. Her thoughts turn to her dreams, to the silver eyes that are at once strange and familiar, to stairs and mountain paths. 

“Yeah,” she says, not wanting to worry him. She passes the smoke back to him. His metal fingers brush against hers. Heat creeps over the bridge of her nose and fans out over her cheeks, down to her neck. There’s that strange tension between them again that was there last night. It leaves her a little winded, a little lost as she looks up into his eyes. 

He is the one that turns his head first and when she sucks in a breath she hadn’t known she was holding, her lungs burn anew. 

Silence falls between them and it’s not as easy as the silence the previous night after she’d made her declaration. 

_I think that’s the plan._

Like it could ever be as easy as that. She isn’t sure it is a plan, at least not yet. For plans, you need a start, an end, and the steps to fill in the gaps between. She has the end. She wanted to save everyone she could in The Institute. A large part of her had thought that just maybe she could save all of them. That she could transform it from the inside out. But it wasn’t that simple. It never would be. Even if she spent the rest of her life trying to change their minds, there would always be a faction that would survive, spinning tales of the evil that prevailed top side, of the people that would tear them down if they had a chance. Her son hadn’t begun the legacy, he was the legacy and everyone who’d ripped him away from her was dead and long gone. There was no one left to pay for those sins and she didn’t know what to do with that. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nick says, breaking her train of thought before it can spin out even more. She shakes her head and when she finally looks at him, her stomach drops at the concern plain as day on his face. 

“Just thinking about what comes next. I didn’t think I would have to do this again,” she says. She stares out at the scene before them. The sun is just peeking up over the tree line on the opposite side of the property. She can see the first stirrings of life in some of the other houses. A light popping on in the Abernathy house, shadows moving behind closed windows. 

“You mean killing your son.” It sends a shock through her heart, even now, even after everything. 

“It’s all of it really. Destroying the Institute, killing Shaun, it’s just all of it,” she says. She almost jumps when she feels his fingers on her elbow. Not holding exactly, just gentle pressure. To let her know that he’s there, that she’s not alone. 

“I know you wanted things to be different,” he says and there’s an understanding in his expression that twists something inside of her. Something she thought burned to cinders. 

“I did. I had these notions I guess of being able to change their minds, but I guess there is no right way to do this. The corruption runs too deep.”

“Hey,” he says and when she finally looks at him, her heart lodges somewhere in her throat. She wishes suddenly that she was an artist. She could paint him from memory at this point. The shape of his lips, the furrow between his brows, the light throwing his expression into sharp relief, and always those glowing yellow eyes. Boring into hers like he can see straight through her. She wishes she could capture that and so many thousand moments besides. “Don’t go there, alright? If you want out, you only have to say so. The Railroad be damned, the Institute, Shaun, all of it damned. If you can’t do this, we’ll pack up right now, march back to Sanctuary, grab Caleb, and fuck off. I won’t lose you to this and I know John would say the same thing. It’s not worth it. None of it is.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. She loved Nate. She really, really did, but those years he’d been gone had been the hardest she'd ever known. They’d only been married for a year before he’d been called away to active duty and when he came home, he wasn’t the same man she’d fallen in love with. He was harder, his eyes a little darker and his mouth slower to fit into that old smile. She still loved him, but even after he came home, even after the birth of their son, sometimes she would still feel so alone. Like it was her against the world. 

And now, now she has Nick and Hancock and even though she’d known they had her back, it is only now that she really knows she isn’t alone anymore. For better or worse, she has them. 

She reaches for his face, brushing her fingertips over his features. First his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his lips. When she finally settles her hand over his heart, she can’t read the expression on his face. 

“I won’t be able to live with myself until it’s done, Nick,” she says to him, soaking in the warmth of him, the smell of cigarette smoke and oil. She hates herself a little bit for not being able to let it go, but she does have to do this. She can’t let The Institute survive, not after everything they’ve done. 

Nick smiles down at her, knowing and sad, and her heart aches. He leans over and presses a chaste kiss to her lips and brushes her hair back from her face. 

“That’s why we love you, sunshine,” John says from his spot behind them. She turns and watches him get up and make his way over to them. His hat is all askew and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen his coat so wrinkled, but he’s there and he’s smiling at them both and she doesn’t think she’s been this happy in a long, long time. 

“Yeah, that’s us. We get weak in the knees over you martyr types,” Nick says with a chuckle that makes _her_ weak in the knees. 

She grins and when she leans into his chest, he doesn’t protest, just wraps an arm around her so she can tuck her head beneath his chin. Hancock settles on the floor behind them. His legs are pressed to their backs as he leans forward and drapes his arms over their shoulders in a loose embrace. They all stare at the horizon, watching the sun climb the sky and just soaking in the warmth and the air and each other, for as long as they can spare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys...life is still pretty crappy, but I'm trying to push through. This story is and will continue to be my retreat and I'm just so grateful for all of you and for these characters. 
> 
> Thanks for all of the kudos, subscribes, comments, etc. that I've received over the past two weeks. They've made me so happy. I hope you continue to enjoy this story into the new year. I still can't believe I've been working on this project for three entire years, even though I didn't intend for it to become as big as it has. 
> 
> Thank you all and here's to another chapter about these whacky kids that we all love. <3 <3


	6. we were free like water

They don’t wait long after waking up to get moving. Nora makes sure their bags are all packed and stocked, which is easy enough to do. They didn’t really take anything out of them the night before. 

She doesn’t know if it’s because it’s her first firefight since Winter or the hit of Jet she just took, but she feels off somehow like her skin is crawling. Like she has an in itch she just can’t scratch. So she’s glad to have something to occupy her hands. 

“You doing okay, doll?” Nick asks her as she struggles with the clasp on one of the packs. That’s when she notices her fingers are shaking. She pauses, takes a breath, and tries again. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just keyed up I guess. This is my first time shooting a gun since the warehouse. It’s just nerves I think,” she tells him as she hands him his pack. He’s watching her with those golden eyes of his and she thinks that’s making her even more nervous than worrying about the fight. His fingers just brush hers as he takes the pack from her. He slings it over one shoulder, still watching her as he does. 

“Alright,” he finally says, looking out of the open doorway where Hancock is stretching. The sun is shining on him. He left his coat inside, so they can both see every lean line of him. Every muscle stretched taut as he limbers up. “Well, just let us know if it gets any worse. Can’t let you walk in there all bent out of shape.”

“I will,” she says as she bends down and grabs her own pack. It feels lighter than it did yesterday. She looks up at Nick just in time to see the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Did you do something to my pack?”

It takes him a moment to answer. He considers her, that soft grin doing wonderful things to her heart, and then reaches forward to tuck a hair behind her ear. 

“Just moved some stuff around is all,” he says. She can’t help the heat that spreads across her cheeks at that or the smile that she feels pulling at her lips. She catches his hand just as it’s slipping away from the shell of her ear and holds it against her cheek. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I did. You’re trying to carry too much on your own. Let us shoulder some of it for a while.” 

She almost hates how right he is. She almost hates how much it settles her to hear those words from him. 

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she can, there is a quick, sharp knock on the open door. It’s Blake. 

“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat as he looks anywhere but at the two of them, “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Just wanted to check if you had everything you need before you head out?”

And the thing is, she’s used to the looks by now. Never mind that Nick Valentine would and had helped people who didn’t deserve it and never asked for anything in return. Never mind that he’d nearly died trying to get rid of one of the worst monsters the Commonwealth had ever birthed. Never mind that it was none of their God damn business who she loved. But she never expected to see it from the people that she admired, respected, even loved in their own right. She’d never expected to see that look on Blake Abernathy’s face, and yet, there it was as clear as day. His lips were pursed, the lines around his eyes tight with disgust.

Maybe she’d grown used to the acceptance she found in Sanctuary. Maybe she’d had so much to think about over the past few months that she hadn’t bothered to pay attention to _this._ Whatever the reason, it guts her. Especially when she feels Nick’s hand slip from hers. He steps back from her and she feels every inch of that gaping space between them.

“We’re good,” she says and she doesn’t mean to sound so cold and distant, so dismissive, but it’s all right there in those two words. For a moment, Blake meets her eyes and her stomach lurches at the brief flicker of remorse she sees staring back at her, but then he turns without a word, and there is nothing for it but to pack up their things and leave Abernathy Farm. 

*** 

She can hear the ferals moaning as they cross the dried riverbed and she hesitates. It’s a fraction of a second, but it’s still there. Her hands shake and a bead of sweat slides down her spine. She grits her teeth and keeps moving, Nick and John silent as shadows at her back. 

She can see the front gate is thrown wide, the metal fence creaking as a gust of wind blows through, whipping stray strands of her hair away from her face. Beyond that, there’s a large two-story building and three abandoned transport trucks in the yard, all in varying degrees of disarray, and on the far side of the lot is another smaller building. 

Something in the corner of her vision moves and when she turns her head to see what it is, she catches sight of a Reaver wandering past the open gate. She holds up her hand and they all sink to their knees. Her lungs constrict as she sucks in a sharp breath. She waits for it to turn its head, to catch sight of them as it passes in front of the open gate, but it just ambles past, sniffing the air and dragging its left leg behind it as it goes. She exhales and just when she thinks it might be safe to turn her head, another ghoul walks by and this time, they’re not so lucky. Its dark beady eyes narrow and it lets out a snarl as it realizes what they are. It trips over its own feet trying to get at them and slams against the fence. It lets out another snarl as it claws at the metal. 

“God damnit,” Nora swears and lifts her pistol to shoot it straight through the head. Its body goes slack as its head explodes in a shower of brain matter and blood that sprays across the back of the pink truck behind it. 

“Almost forgot how much I fucking hate ferals,” John says. 

From across the lot, the Reaver stumbles out from behind the truck, eyes wide, nose lifted as it tries to figure out where the commotion is coming from. She knows the exact moment it catches sight of them and she glances at Hancock over her shoulder. 

He’s already pulling the pin of a frag. He waits for a second and then pitches it over towards the Reaver. It lands at its feet just as it looks about ready to charge towards them. The grenade goes off, choking off its growl as it blows apart. 

“That’s one way to do it,” Nick says with a chuckle. 

They don’t talk for a while after that as feral ghouls flood the yard from the buildings, as they crawl out from under the transport trucks. 

And when it’s all said and done, they drag themselves back to Abernathy to get a decent night’s sleep before heading to Mercer Safehouse, all of them fighting relentless exhaustion that’s seeped down into their skin, their bones, their souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter...idk lol. I've been sitting on my hands for the past two weeks trying to coax my muse out and I can't really tell if it's just end of the year stress or what, but she hasn't wanted to have anything to do with writing lol. See here I am posting this. I hope you guys enjoy it. I'll try not to wait so long before posting chapter 7. It all depends on how much writing I can get done. :)
> 
> Thanks as always for all the kudos, comments, subscribes, everything. I'm so grateful for every one of you. 
> 
> And on that note, it is New Year's Eve, so here goes some sappiness. Let's be real, 2018 was a pretty crappy year for me, but it was made a lot better from all of your encouragement and love. I can't properly describe what it's meant to me to be able to have this story as an outlet and to have all of you supporting me. I love each and every one of you and here's to 2019 hopefully being a great year full of success and happiness. <3 <3


	7. keep your head low, if you wanna keep your head

Nick shakes her and John awake a little while after dawn. Sunlight is peeking through the crack between the door and the floorboards. Birds are chirping happily outside the window. And she swears she hears the crackle of a radio somewhere nearby. 

“Fucking hell, Nick, five more minutes?” John asks as he throws an arm over his face to block out the light. She has to admit, he’s cute as hell like this. Slurring his words a little as he rouses from sleep, his mouth pursed with displeasure, and his long fingers drumming a beat out on the sheets that only he can hear. 

“You can sleep when you’re dead,” Nick says with a chuckle, brushing his cold metal hand against Hancock’s forearm. He yelps and tries to shift away, but there’s no space for it, and he just ends up wiggling around. 

She laughs at them both and that’s when she hears it again. The crackle of white noise and then. 

“Come in, General.”

“Shit,” Nora mutters. She stumbles out of bed towards the pile of rank clothing they’d left in the corner of the cabin. She rifles through some of the items with a grimace until her fingers brush against the metal frame of her Pip-Boy. 

“Preston, it’s me. Everything okay?”

_“Everything’s fine, Nora, just wanted to check in and get your status.”_

“Shit, sorry. I meant to check in last night. Everything’s all good here. We cleared out Wicked Shipping, so Abernathy Farm is in the clear.”

_“That’s great news!”_

“Yeah,” Nora says as she sinks down onto the bed again to get more comfortable. “We’re going to head Deacon’s way in a bit after we get moving. Shouldn’t take but a few hours, so if Deacon radios, can you just pass on the message?”

_“Absolutely.”_

“And how’s our recruit doing?” 

_“Who?”_

“Caleb, how’s he doing?”

_“Oh, of course. He’s right here. He wanted to say hello. Here he is.”_

There’s that pressing white noise again. Hancock and Nick are staring at her Pip-Boy as hard as she is, waiting for their boy to get on the line. It makes her heart swell to see it. 

_“H-hello?”_

“Hey, Caleb, it’s me. Us. Nick and John are here too.”

 _“Hi,”_ Caleb says, the excitement in his voice barely contained. _“Where are you guys?”_

“We’re down at Abernathy Farm. It’s just south of where you are in Sanctuary.”

_“And when are you coming home? I wanna show you guys how good I’ve gotten with my pistol.”_

“We’ll be back in no time, Caleb, don’t you worry. The settlers here had a ghoul problem we had to take care of. And then we’re headed to meet up with another friend who needs our help. And when that’s done, we’ll be headed back to Sanctuary.”

Caleb groans at that. 

_“Well, how long is all of that going to take?”_

John laughs and there’s even a hint of a smile tugging at Nick’s mouth as he leans forward. 

“We won’t be gone much longer, Caleb, don’t you worry.”

_“I’m not worried, I’m bored.”_

Nick full-on laughs at that, his eyes half-closed with mirth. It’s a wonderful sound, an even more wonderful sight. She can’t help thinking of what he said before. Of leaving all of this behind and just running away. She can’t help but feel guilty with how much she wants to do just that.

“Okay, bud, well we have to go, but you can radio us later okay? You can go and check on Dogmeat. Make sure he has food and water. Maybe you can play fetch with him later.”

_“Okay! Bye, I love you guys. I’ll see you soon.”_

Before any of them can respond, the line disconnects. Nora tosses her Pip-Boy behind her on the bed, her heart racing and her mouth dry as she tries to process all of that. Even Nick and John look thrown by the boy’s confession, so she doesn’t feel as lost. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Nick finally says as he stares into the distance, some far-away point over her shoulder. 

And doesn’t that just about sum it up for her too?

***

She doesn’t know what to expect when they crest the hill leading up into Sunshine Tidings, but she knows it wasn’t this. Whatever it was in any number of their other lives, now it is a buzzing hub of activity that swells behind the gate they’ve cobbled together. Hancock and Nick are flanking her, warm weights that she can feel straight through the layers of her leather armor. She waits, unable to keep herself from shifting her weight every so often between her feet.

After a few minutes, a face appears above their heads. They’ve done a pretty good job of arranging their face into some semblance of surprise at finding them there even though Nora had met their eyes half a dozen times while they shuffled closer to the gate. 

“Hello there,” they say with an accent that reminds her immediately of Cait. “Have you got a Geiger counter?” 

“Mine’s in the shop,” she replies. The figure above them gives a quick jerk of their head and then the doors are swinging open with a creaking groan that makes her fingers itch. She’s so twitchy, her skin crawling under the gaze of so many unfamiliar faces.

“Took you long enough. I was beginning to think something bad had happened,” Deacon says from the other side of the gate. He sounds exhausted, though you wouldn’t know it from just looking at him with those damned sunglasses covering his eyes. 

“To me?” she says, feigning surprise and holding her hand over her heart with a grin, “You must be mistaking me for someone else.” 

“Yeah, yeah, but seriously. You came just in time. I was about to take off for HQ when one of the guys spotted you walking up the hill. What took you so long?”

“It wasn’t that long, D, we came as soon as we could,” John says and there must be something on his face to make Deacon’s grin shift like that. 

“Right,” Deacon says, running his hand over the back of his neck. “Well, we’re fully set up here if you need anything.”

He turns his back and starts showing them the set up they’ve got going on. The wooden gate trails its way all around the settlement. Guards are standing watch at every corner and there are two machine gun turrets on every wall, swinging back and forth as they search the horizon for enemies.

Off to their right is where all of the stands are set up. They’ve got one for armor, weapons, they even have one for getting doctored up. 

There are half a dozen houses that are part of the original design that she remembers. Blue walls covered with rust topped with metal roofs. She hadn’t gotten much time with this place before to set it up the way it should have been, but she can see this has been months in the making. Maybe even since before she’d crawled out of Vault 111 this last time. 

On the far side of the settlement, there are rows of mutfruit trees, tato plants, and corn all being tended by a handful of people. They have two brahmins in a pen. One of them occasionally lifts its head to let out a bellowing cry. She thinks she even sees a dog running between the rows of corn. 

“And this is operations,” Deacon says as he steps up into the middle building. It isn’t much to look at, but there are several radios, a computer, and a desk and what looks like a storage closet that she’d guess isn’t part of the original structure of the building. “Hey, Bea, what do you have for me?”

Typing furiously away on the computer is a long-haired woman with a pinched expression on her face. 

“I don’t have anything new for you since you asked me 20 minutes ago,” she says without breaking eye contact with whatever she’s writing. But after a moment, she seems to realize that Deacon isn’t the only one in her office and her eyes slowly drift towards them huddled in the doorway. Her eyes sweep over Deacon, then John, and finally to Nick. Her eyes widen a fraction, her lips falling around a soft exhale. Then her gaze finds Nora and she nearly tumbles over herself trying to get from around the desk. 

“You’re Charmer!” the woman gasps, holding out a hand for Nora to take. Nora shakes the woman’s hand with an amused smile. 

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.” The woman blushes, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

“No, I don’t believe we have. I’m Bea. I run the operations around here. It’s pretty boring for the most part, although I did get to set up a MILA last week for Tinker Tom. That was fun. And scary. There was a pack of super mutants nearby, but they didn’t find me and I ran off before they could.”

“W-wow,” Nora says, charmed and bewildered at once by the other woman. She’s pretty with hair that curls down to her waist. It’s dark, almost, but not quite black, streaked through with silver. And skin that reminds her of flowers Nate had brought home to her once. Black Star Calla Lilies. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too,” the woman says, finally letting go of her hand to consider Deacon with an accusatory glare. “I wish you’d told me she was coming.” 

“I did!” Deacon says, voice betraying his exasperation. She almost takes pity on him, but she can’t help but feel like he needs more people like Bea in his life. People that aren’t afraid to give him shit. 

“Deacon, we both know that if you’d told me Charmer was coming here, I would have been more prepared,” Bea says, indicating the ripped knees of her pants and the state of her hair. 

“Before we get carried away with ourselves,” Nick says, slipping out from behind her to fit himself in between her and Bea. His voice is hard and when John touches her arm, she can feel the heat and the rage pouring off of him too. “How do you know who she is?”

Her stomach flips and she shrinks a little bit into John’s touch. She hadn’t even noticed. She watches Bea carefully, waiting for something she can’t put a name to that might betray her. She hasn’t ever met anyone she can’t remember that remembers her. Nick is right to be leery. Still, there is nothing on the other woman’s face but confusion as she looks between Deacon and Nick and Nora. 

“I don’t understand,” Bea says, her face falling even more when that admission does nothing to change the expression on Nick’s face. He’s holding his fingers above his gun, ready for anything that will give him an excuse to draw on her. 

“Nick, come on, cut the shit,” Deacon says, that aloof grin slipping off his face as easily as if it had never been there at all. 

“There is no shit,” Nick says in that same unforgiving tone, “We’ve never met this woman before and Nora isn’t part of the Railroad in this life, so how does she know Nora’s code name?”

“But I have met her before. We built this place up together once. That’s why I volunteered to come out here. I thought maybe she would get word that I was here and…” Bea trails off, her gaze drifting past Nick to meet Nora’s eyes. And there’s something there. Something that speaks to her, an echo of what she’d felt in this life when she woke up in an unfamiliar bed and saw the eyes of a stranger looking out at her from a familiar face. 

“Nick,” Nora says, her voice steady, but so, so small. “I think she’s telling the truth.”

“You sure?” Bea still hasn’t looked away from her. There’s sorrow there and an understanding that whatever they’d been, they would not be again. She gulps, guilt pooling in her gut. Her heart aches, but still, she has to push past her own horror to say the words. 

“I’m sure.” 

To Nick’s credit, his shoulders slump as soon as the words are out of her. He steps back again, not quite behind her anymore. She takes his hand and smiles. 

“Thank you,” she mutters. He smiles at her too. Hancock squeezes her other hand and then moves further into the room so he can sink down into one of the chairs in front of the desk. 

“So, D, let’s cut the cloak and dagger shit, huh? What’d you drag us out here for?”

Deacon looks at all of them and she can feel the burn of his gaze as it wavers on her a split-second longer than Nick and John. It’s enough to make her hold Nick’s hand just that much tighter. She’s known Deacon in multiple timelines, probably more than she’d thought before, so she knows what that expression means. The pursed lips, the skin tight around his eyes, and that tick in his jaw from clenching his teeth together. Nothing good ever came from it, so she has to prepare herself for the worst. 

A thick knot of apprehension forms in her stomach when he sinks down into the cushioned seat beside him. He rubs a hand across the back of his neck with a sigh. 

She’s not sure if he’s stalling or if he’s genuinely this nervous about whatever it is he has to tell them. Maybe it’s both, she thinks, as his mouth twists further into a frown.

“Jesus, Deacon, just spit it out already,” Bea says after a quick, worried glance in her direction. 

‘I’m getting there, Bea. Fucking hell, I didn’t sign up for this shit,” he says, his own agitation bleeding into his words. Bea shrinks back behind the desk, her hands held up in front of her as if to ward him off. 

“Perhaps it would be easier if we showed them,” says a new voice, light and almost musical in quality. She drops Nick’s and John’s hands and together, they turn on their heels. The knot in her stomach swells, an ache forming just behind her eyes. It’s impossible, but that voice. It sounds familiar almost. 

A figure steps in through the door they’d entered and she has to stop herself from taking a step back when her eyes adjust and the picture before her becomes clear. Pale, synthetic skin interlaced with glass tubes and red wires on the torso, while the lower half of them is just the metal frame, threaded through with what looks like cloth wrappings. And regarding her with curiosity, the vague hint of a smile catching the corners of his pale, colorless lips, are the striking eyes that have haunted her dreams for weeks. The silver shaded twin of the same eyes that she and Hancock are in love with. 

“I suspect you have questions,” the synth says, the smile settling more firmly into place as his eyes slide over her, _through_ her, to meet Nick’s eyes. “Don’t you, brother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I've wanted to introduce DiMA into this story for at least a year, probably longer. So, I'm hoping the reveal was worth it. 
> 
> As always, thank you for all the kudos, comments, subscribes, etc. I appreciate every single notification and this story wouldn't be what it is today without all of you, so from the bottom of my heart, thank you. And as always, comments are the writer's food of choice, so I'd love to hear what you guys think of this installment.
> 
> Another note, there is a project I've been working on, off and on, for about two years, that I want your guys' thoughts about. It's a modern F!SS/Hancock fic. I'm not sure how long it will be, but I was wondering if there might be some interest in seeing it? I haven't really seen many Fallout fics set in modern times and in keeping with my habit of wanting to break out into new niches in this fandom, I'd love to contribute. I've only written like two chapters so far, but I'm super into it. So just wanted to get a feeler out for how many people might be interested in reading it? 
> 
> <3 <3


	8. your mess is mine

Silence. Pure, absolute, wretched silence follows the other synth’s admission. No one seemed to want to breach it, not even the mysterious synth that only had eyes for Nick at the moment. There was a strange half-smile on his face, but the sorrow in his silver eyes was unmistakable too. Eyes that had haunted her dreams for months and now here he was in the synthetic flesh. It seemed impossible, but then she’d had her fill with impossible to last a dozen lifetimes already. What was one more thing to add to the pile?

She glances around the room and finds Bea already watching her with a pink flush coloring her cheeks. Bea manages an encouraging smile for her. Her eyelashes flutter and then she’s looking at her hands in her lap. Deacon is still leaning up against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. For anyone who didn’t know him, he would be the picture of nonchalance, but she does know him. His eyes are trained on the wall opposite him, but his head is cocked ever so slightly to the right. He’s listening. Waiting to see who will make the first move.

And then there’s Hancock, settled into one of the chairs in front of the desk, his eyes stricken as he looks at Nick and his brother. She follows his line of sight and barely suppresses the urge to sigh. No one looking at the two of them together can fail to see the similarities- _the family resemblance_ -but how and why have they never met him until now?

“Okay,” she says, sinking into the chair beside Hancock. Her hand goes to catch his on instinct and she finds him already reaching for her. The warm tips of his fingers brush against her palm and then thread through her own fingers. She gives his hand a squeeze as much to reassure him as to comfort herself. “Who are you and why are we here?”

The other synth’s eyes slip past Nick to alight on her again. His forehead creases as he searches her face. He tilts his head when he meets her eyes again. She doesn’t know what he was looking for, but it’s obvious he hasn’t found it.

“You really don’t remember?” 

She considers him, the enigmatic smile, the silver eyes, the slapped-together frame of him of wires and metal and glass. There is no earthly reason why she should remember him. They’ve never met, not in this lifetime and not in any of the other ones she lived through. But, there must be some part of her that knows him, no matter how buried that part might be. He’d been a constant presence in her dreams for months, lurking just beyond the edge of sight, his true form wrapped up in shadow and fog. That had to mean something, right?

“I don’t….” her voice trails away, the words failing her. She swallows and tries again. “I don’t remember but I think maybe I’m starting to. Does that make sense?”

The smile on his face widens and something sparks to life in his eyes. 

“More than you know,” he says. 

“Okay, okay,” Nick says. She nearly jumps out of her skin when he speaks. She realizes with a start that he hasn’t spoken once since the other synth entered the room. His golden eyes are brimming with rage. “Just who the hell are you, really? And why haven’t we met you before?”

“I can explain, if you’re willing to give me the chance.”

Nick scoffs and then turns to look over his shoulder at her and Hancock. She gives him an encouraging smile. 

“Let him explain, Nicky. We might as well make this trip worth something,” John says with a hesitant glance at the other synth before settling more firmly into his chair. 

“You heard the man,” Nick says. The stranger nods and begins to weave his strange tale. 

“My name is DiMA. You and I were prototypes built by the Institute. We were the first synths capable of independent thought and judgment. We were part of an experiment that had to do with personality processing. They wanted to see if machines like us could handle individual feelings and behavior. I was allowed to develop mine by experience, but you...they wanted to try transferring an entire personality into you.

“It took several attempts before the personality imprint stuck. I watched you wake up not knowing who or what you were so many times…. I couldn’t let them do it anymore. We were the only two prototypes they made. I literally saw myself in you. You were my brother, Nick. Maybe not in blood, but we both know families can be made from other things.”

DiMA’s gaze, resting on Nick as he tells his story, their story, slip past him to Nora and Hancock. Her heart flutters, realizing he’s talking about the two of them and Caleb and what they all mean to Nick. 

“So I helped you escape the Institute. We left together.”

“Then why don’t I remember?” Nick demands, his hands balled into fists at his sides. There’s a restless buzz in the air after his outburst. She watches the tense, unforgiving line of his shoulders, and she knows how angry he must be. How confused. 

“I don’t know,” DiMA admits with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve spun you stories before about prototype memory space, but that was just to save my own skin. The truth is I think you were still out of sorts from the memory imprint. You put up quite a struggle when we first got out. You couldn’t remember who I was or where you were. You refused to come with me, so I had to leave you. Not a day goes by that I don’t regret that.”

“Say we believe you, which I’m not inclined to do at the moment, why wait all this time to find me? To find us? Why now?”

“Because,” DiMA says with that half-smile of his and for a moment, she wonders if that’s all the answer they’ll get. Then he meets her eyes again. She can feel the weight of his words even before he speaks them. She knows somehow that they are going to change everything. 

“Because I came here to help you destroy the Institute.”

***

Later, much later, when the planning and the talking is done, when even DiMA and Nick begin to look haggard, Deacon shows them to their rooms. It’s a small, metal shack on the northern end of the settlement. Hancock leads Nick inside. She can hear the gentle cadence of their voices as they shift around inside. She smiles to herself before turning to her friend. 

“You know I’m still pissed at you for luring us here like this, right?” she says bluntly. 

She used to think Deacon had no shame, back before she really knew him. She used to think what he showed the world was really what he was. It was only after months and months of traveling, after all the tourist missions they’d done together after he’d gotten up the courage to talk about Barbara, that she’d learned the truth. Deacon was plagued by shame and guilt every single day and hiding behind his glasses, behind his humor, was the only way he got through it. 

She expects a joke, a brush-off of what happened. What she doesn’t expect is the twist of his mouth. What she doesn’t expect is for him to hang his head, for him to rub the back of his neck. What she doesn’t expect is to see any real reaction out of him, but that’s what she gets, and it throws her a little bit to see it.

“You probably won’t believe me, but I am sorry. After Eddie WInter, after what he confessed to us, we couldn’t risk DiMA’s presence here getting out to the wrong people, or where this place is. You know how important it is for the Railroad.”

She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest. She leans back against the outside wall of the shack. 

“I get it, D. I really do,” she says, rubbing a hand over her face. The shaking has gotten worse. She hasn’t had a hit since before they left to take care of the ghoul problem at Wicked Shipping. She can handle it tonight. It’s okay tonight. But in the morning, she knows she’ll have to take some Jet. Especially given what they’re going to take on. She’ll need a clear head. 

“Do you really think this plan will work? We both know how hard apparition can be,” Nora says. The lopsided smile he gives her is all him, no frills, no embellishments, just him. She can’t remember the last time she saw it.

“Just try really hard not to get splinched,” Deacon says with a soft laugh. She smiles too, a quick quirk of her lips, and then she remembers what she has to do tomorrow, what they all face, and it drops off her face as quickly as it appeared. 

“And do you think we can trust DiMA? I know he said he’s Nick’s brother, that he helped him escape the Institute, but….”

“You know what a good judge of character I am,” Deacon says with a sliver of a smile. “DiMA has lied before. He’s definitely keeping his whole sad sob story close to the chest. But in this, destroying the Institute, I believe he’s telling the truth.”

“So you don’t think he’s going to betray us in some way? This plan hinges on him as much as it does me. If something happens and you guys can’t get to me….”

“There are risks, sure, but if we can take down the Institute tomorrow, won’t it be worth it? I’m tired of them shitting all over us because they don’t think we’re even worth their time. I’m tired of them shitting all over synths because they gave them all the trappings of humans and then told them it wasn’t enough.”

“I know,” Nora says and she really does. She’s tried too. She’s so tried. And he’s right, in a way. If they can take down their organization tomorrow, then at least all of this will have some purpose. 

“And on that depressing note, I think we should get to bed. Good night’s rest and all of that.”

“Yeah,” she says, nodding. She turns to go inside, but then Deacon’s fingers are on her wrist. She stops mid-step and glances back over her shoulder. 

“Thank you for agreeing to all of this, Nora. It...well, it means a lot to the Railroad.”

“I’m not doing it for the Railroad, Deacon,” she says. She can’t see his eyes, but it feels like they’re burning into her all the same. 

“God, you never make anything easy,” he says with that same lopsided grin, “Fine, it means a lot to me.”

“There you go,” Nora says with a smile. His hand slips away and she leaves him standing there as she makes her way into the metal shack. 

Inside, Nick and Hancock are already lounging on the bed. She strips off her clothes and starts to clean herself up with the rag and water basin by the bed. She washes off the day of traveling off her, every part of her aching as she traces it with the rag. 

“You ready for tomorrow?”

“No,” she says, wringing out the rag and placing it on the back of the chair to dry out. Her limbs are heavy, her heart is heavy, every inch of her is heavy. Sleep is dragging at her eyes, but there’s a small knot of tight, buzzing energy that won’t ease inside her chest. 

She slips into a soft pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt. She slips into bed and snuggles into Hancock’s side after she turns the lamp off. Darkness fills the room. It’s so quiet. Too quiet.

“I don’t feel ready to take this on. It’s just all happening so fast.”

“Fast is one word for it,” Nick says darkly.

“You having second thoughts about the plan, Nicky?”

“It’s a good plan, there’s just a lot of variables. A lot of ways for this to go wrong. I don’t like the idea of sending you in alone with no backup. Knowing what we do about the Institute and about Shaun, he’ll know as soon as you get there. He could already know you're coming.” 

She stares up at the ceiling, the dark of it a black cavern sitting on her chest.

“You think this could be a trap?” she says, the words scraping against her throat like razor wire.

“ I don't want to believe that DiMA could betray us, but it wouldn't be the first time Shaun used someone to get to you like this.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, the ghost of Winter’s fingers tracing the curve of her elbow. The fire in her veins as they inject the Jet into her arm. Caleb’s face in the dark. All those dead settlers.

“Besides that, we can’t forget that DiMA is a synth, which means he can be manipulated, easier than any human could be.”

“We all know Shaun is fucking mental, but do you really think he's so off the rocker that he'd try to use your brother, or whatever he is, to get to Nora?” 

“I think he'd do anything at this point to get to her,” Nick says.

She doesn't want to entertain the thought that he could be right, not just about DiMA, but about Shaun too. Is he really so far gone that he just wants her dead at this point? She has to admit that it would be the simplest solution to keeping the Institute intact. 

“Look,” she says on a sigh, “This is all theoretical. Deacon trusts that DiMA is being honest about wanting to take out the Institute, and I trust Deacon. I can’t guarantee that it’s going to be a walk in the park going back there, especially alone, but what choice do we have?”

“You’re right,” John says. “Whatever happens tomorrow, all we can do is hope for the best. And get some sleep.”

“Well…” Nick drawls and Hancock laughs, cutting off whatever thought Nick had. 

“We know synths don't sleep, Nick,” he says. 

“Smartass,” Nick mutters as he slides down the bed. He's nestled against John's other side, the tips of his fingers just brushing her own. Warmth spreads through her chest. Whatever happens tomorrow, she knows she’ll be able to face it for these two, for the boy they left behind in Sanctuary. 

She closes her eyes and almost immediately gets swept away into a dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, just a few things. 
> 
> 1\. I'm loving all of the kudos, but I would LOVE IT if everyone could take a moment to comment on this chapter. I hate to be that person, but I haven't gotten any comments in the last two chapters and it's a little bit of a bummer. It doesn't have to be anything big, just an "I loved it" or heck even a "can't wait for more" would be great. Like I said I hate to ask, but encouragement really does make a difference to fanfic writers, any writer really. 
> 
> 2\. As is hinted in this chapter, we're nearing the end of this little story and this series. I've loved being in these character's heads for the last two years, but I think it's time to say goodbye. I think I might call it at chapter 12, but I'll probably have a better idea of that by the time I post the next chapter. 
> 
> Okay that's it. Thank you guys for everything. I can't wait to hear what you think of this chapter, and don't worry, the next one will be really exciting, I promise. :)


	9. torn down, full of aching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen to "Carry You" by Novo Amor while you listen to this chapter. Just do it. 
> 
> Also, fair warning, you guys finally get smut. It's not super explicit or anything, but if that's not your cup of tea, just start reading after the first ***.

Nora dreams of arching blue electricity singing against her skin. She dreams of her son’s face, as he was before the bombs. She dreams of the times before the world fell into ruin, before the murder of her husband, and the destruction of her family. She dreams of Caleb, John, Nick. She dreams of a small cottage on the edge of the world. She dreams that they are happy, that she finally finds peace. 

And when she wakes, her eyes are already filled with tears and a sob is wrenched out of her before she can stop herself. She pulls herself to the edge of the mattress, curls in on herself, presses a shaking fist to her mouth. She feels winded, limbs trembling like she’s just run five miles, and she can’t understand why.

She feels the shift of the bed and the click and whir of Nick’s processors as he comes out of his sleep mode. 

“Nora, what’s wrong?” John asks, his voice rough from sleep. He rubs her back. His fingers are warm and she finds herself leaning into his touch. 

“I’m sorry,” she says around the tightness in her throat.

“Hey, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for, sunshine,” he says, brushing her flaxen hair over her shoulder to press a gentle kiss to the side of her neck. Despite herself, she shudders under his lips, desire mingling with the bittersweet sorrow clinging to her heart. 

Her body unfurls, hands planted on either side of her thighs, and she glances over her shoulder. Her breath stutters out of her, chest tight and her lips trembling with words unsaid. He watches her, his gray eyes glittering in the darkness. There is a tender smile pulling at the corners of his lips. He’s so beautiful it hurts. 

A movement behind Hancock’s shoulder draws her eye and as her gaze trails over his chest and over the curve of his shoulder, she finds Nick’s golden eyes watching her too. Her stomach clenches with another pulse of desire. Lightening lurches through her, her blood singing in her veins and her nerves alight with pure and unending want. Before she realizes what she’s doing, she’s swept forward on the crest of it. 

It’s been so long and when she clambers into Hancock’s lap, she can feel the long, hard length of him slotted right against her aching center. Hancock moans beneath her, his fingers clutching wildly at her hips as he bucks beneath her. 

“Christ, Nora, you’re gonna kill me one of these fucking days,” he mutters. 

“Is that right?” she says. She tilts her face toward his and captures his lips in a kiss so searing it feels like she’s swallowed an inferno. Distantly, she becomes aware of the heat pressed against her back, of the metal fingers carding through her hair, of the synthetic flesh slipping beneath the hem of her shirt. She gasps, ripping her mouth away from John to lean back against the long, warm length of Nick at her back. His servos whir and he hums his appreciation into her ear, making shudders skitter down her spine and gooseflesh to race across her arms.

“You’re liable to kill us both at this rate,” Nick says as he lavishes attention on her neck before pressing a gentle kiss just beneath her ear. She’s on fire. His lips, his hand beneath her shirt, and the soft roll of Hancock’s hips beneath hers is all too much stimulation. Desire pools tight and hot in the pit of her stomach, a wave gathering momentum. 

“And oh what a death it would be,” Nick whispers just as his fingers slip beneath the band of her shorts. 

Time expands, shifts, shatters, shrinks to this. It’s exquisite torture. It’s an ecstasy so powerful it’s just shy of painful. She is trapped between them, but she has never felt so free as when Nick’s finger circles her clit, as when Hancock leans forward to suck at the sensitive skin over her carotid artery. Her pulse jumps beneath his kiss and she smiles up at the ceiling as her hand moves down his chest. Her fingers tease the waistband of his soft sleep pants before they disappear beyond the dark fabric.

“Fuck.” 

John jolts as her fingers wrap around him. He tips his head back, his eyes closed and his mouth falling open in hopeless exultation. His hands tighten around her hips, his blunt nails digging into her skin. 

They’re a tangle of limbs, of teeth and questing fingers and heat. This is new and even though there’s a learning curve, they’re all very quick studies. It doesn’t take long to find a steady rhythm. John is shaking beneath her, his skin so hot it almost burns her palm as she pumps his cock. And her heart is jumping in her chest as Nick’s clever fingers slip lower still to dip inside her. 

“Oh, God,” she mutters, her head falling back against his shoulder. 

“Not quite,” Nick mutters back, his lips nipping at the shell of her ear. She flutters around his fingers for a moment, two, but she isn’t quite at the edge, not yet, the crescendo within her swelling to soaring heights. 

“Enough with the fucking wisecracks,” John laughs as he leans forward to press his lips against hers. Something goes liquid and golden inside of her. Her moan is swept up in their kiss, caught somewhere between their battling tongues. He must feel it too because he starts to buck up against her hand. 

She squeezes her eyes shut, her body going rigid, poised on the bright and broken edge of pleasure. And then she shatters on the shore of them, her body thrown wide into a million pieces as she flutters around Nick’s hand. Tears spring to her eyes and a moan falls from her lips just as John groans in satisfaction. She feels the hot spread of his semen over her palm and she has to catch her lip between her teeth as a fresh wave of spasms rips through her at the thought of it. 

It takes a minute for the two of them to catch their breath and another to remember how to form coherent speech again. 

“Holy shit,” Hancock says in the aftermath as he leans back on his hands. There’s a satisfied, happy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Think we might have woken up the neighbors with that display.”

He nods towards the tiny window through which she can just make the bugged-out eyes of the resident in the shack next to theirs watching them through his own window. She grins with reckless abandon, then leans forward to capture his lips in a bruising kiss that makes her heart flip. 

“I think he wants an encore,” she whispers as she pulls away. 

And Hancock, ever a man of the people, gives him just that. 

***

“So, I heard you guys had a _long_ night, Charmer,” Deacon says when they finally stumble out of their shack in the morning. And despite the warm flush of embarrassment that fills her cheeks, she grins.

“You could say that,” she says. The air is heavy with the scent of the campfire and the pop and sizzle of mirelurk eggs over fried tatos. It’s only when her stomach begins to gurgle that she realizes how hungry she is. She turns to one of the picnic tables in their communal kitchen area and starts piling breakfast onto a plate. She grabs two forks for her and John. 

“ _Hard_ too I bet,” Deacon says. 

“Jesus, D., cut it out,” Hancock says. He drops into the seat beside her and leans over to press a gentle, lingering kiss to her cheek. Warmth blooms in the center of her chest and she finds she can’t meet the heat in his eyes without thinking of them tangled together last night. “Morning, sunshine.”

“Morning,” she mutters, embarrassed and ridiculously pleased all at once. 

“Here you go,” Nick says, setting two cans of purified water in front of her and John. 

“Thanks, Nicky,” John says. 

“Thank you,” she says as Nick takes the seat on her other side. 

“You’re welcome,” Nick says, rubbing circles into her back with a tender smile. 

Across the table, Deacon makes a choked sound as he observes the three of them. John shoots him a scathing look before popping a slice of mutfruit into his mouth. 

“Don’t you start again.” 

“I’m sorry,” Deacon says when he clears his throat. He holds up his hands in surrender, “It’s just a little hard to _swallow_.” 

The table groans with second-hand embarrassment. One of the settlers even gets up with a look of disgust at all of them to go eat his breakfast in peace. 

“Don’t forget you’re stuck with us for the foreseeable future, Deacon. Think _long_ and _hard_ about what comes out of your mouth next,” John says with a roguish grin in her and Nick’s direction. Beside her, Nick scoffs, and she can picture him rolling his eyes. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” Nick says. Nora chuckles, thinking of the three of them sneaking into the Institute while Deacon and John make dick jokes, Nick inevitably stuck between the two of them.

“Alright, alright,” Deacon says. He gives her a good-natured smile as he digs into his breakfast in earnest. She and Hancock do the same and the table lapses into silence, broken only by the occasional hum of conversation. 

After a few minutes, when they’re almost done eating, Bea rushes into view. Her eyes are bright with excitement, her lips curled up into an infectious smile. Nora knows why she’s here, of course, she knows, but even expecting it, a tight coil of dread forms inside her stomach anyway. 

“The Signal Interceptor is ready when you are, Charmer.”

Nick’s hand is on her back again. John’s fingers are tangled in her own. She nods in Bea’s direction, her entire body going numb with the reality of the situation. This is happening. This is really happening. 

“I’ll be there in a bit, Bea,” she finds herself saying, because she has to say something. And if it feels like someone else is saying the words through her mouth, well, she just hopes that no one else can tell the difference. 

Bea just nods and goes back to her office. As soon as her back is turned, Nora slumps in her seat, willing her body to relax. She’s done this before, she can’t understand why her body is betraying her like this. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she mutters. It’s soft enough that only John and Nick can hear, but she feels the truth of it in the tight knot in her stomach. Is all too aware of everyone watching her, waiting to see what she’ll do. She doesn’t feel like the savior of the Commonwealth. She doesn’t feel like she could manage to save anyone right now.

“Alright, people,” Deacon says, the authority in his voice clear. “This is it. Finish up your breakfast and report to the front gate in one hour.”

A murmur of ascent rolls down the table as the other members of the Railroad start shoveling food down in order to get a headstart on their packing. 

“As for us, we’ve got some phone calls to make, Charmer.”

“Okay,” she says, swallowing down her panic like a bitter pill. She stands out of her seat, hands trailing over Nick and John’s shoulders. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

They both nod, their expressions impossible to read, and then she’s walking away with Deacon to go set the pieces of their plan in motion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I wanted to thank EACH AND EVERY PERSON who commented, kudo'd, bookmarked, etc. the last chapter. It was so nice to find my inbox filled with love throughout the past two weeks. As always, if you can, I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter. I'm currently right in the middle of writing the last few chapters. We're nearing the end you guys. Just have faith lol. <3 <3


	10. let it bury you away

Nora’s fingers trail across his shoulder, John’s shoulder, and the moment her warm touch leaves, there’s an odd lurch behind his heart, a tug that leaves him feeling hot and cold all at once. He doesn’t know why it feels like she’s taken a part of him with her. He doesn’t know why it feels like the beginning of the end.

***

If his heart weren’t already ruined for her, this would do it. She looks fucking sick with terror as she stands and follows after Deacon. Her pallor is gray and her eyes are rolling around in their sockets like she’s searching for a way out, any way out. It scares the shit out of him, that look. But there’s nothing he can do, nothing Nick can do, as she turns and walks away. 

***

The Radio Room isn’t much. Just a little shack on the eastern edge of Sunshine Tidings. Deacon nods at the woman standing at the guard post right next to them. She nods back, the genuine smile on her face slipping when her eyes move past him and alight on Nora. She knows she shouldn’t take it personally. These people have never met her and they know nothing about her except by reputation. They don’t owe her anything, least of all a smile, but it still hurts to know that she is nothing to the Railroad in this life. 

“You’re sure Dez and High Rise remember me? I haven’t made any contact with the Railroad yet.”

In this time, goes unsaid, but she knows he hears it anyway. 

Deacon shoulders his way into the shack and squeezes in behind the tiny desk, shooting her a quick, slightly strained smile as he does. 

“Would you quit worrying and trust me, Charmer?”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you, D,” she says, perhaps with a little more force than strictly necessary. All he does is raise an eyebrow as he switches on the radio and fiddles with it to get to the right frequency. She sighs, sinking into the chair opposite him, and watches. She twists her hands together in her lap, the canister of Jet she’s been lugging around burning a hole in her pocket. She feels strung out and exhausted and the day has barely begun. It’s impossible to stop her mind from running loops around itself. 

The second time she sighs, Deacon scoffs and switches off the radio again. Her eyes snap up to his face. He’s schooled it into a neutral expression, but she can feel the tension in him regardless. He taught her how to read body language and he is telling her a lot right now. He’s irritated, but trying so very hard not to be. He’s just as scared as she is, but hopeful that things will work out in the end. And there’s something else there, tucked in the corner of his mouth, a kind of exasperated fondness that leaves an ache in her chest. Deacon leans forward, folding his hands in front of him on the desk. 

“Look, Nora, for all my shit talking you this morning, you’re one of my best friends. We’ve had a lot of good times together, right?”

“Of course, but -.” 

“No buts,” he says, cutting off whatever speech she was about to make with a shake of his head. “This is serious shit and it has to go the way we want it to. So, just for today, can you tell that voice in your head that tells you, you’re not good enough, to fuck off? What I need, what we all need, hell, what you need, is to be strong. Without you, this plan is unhinged, okay? You’re the linchpin and I know how fucked it is that this is all riding on you, but there’s no other way around it.

“So, can you do that? Can you tell the voice to fuck off so that we can this shit done?” 

Nora stares at him. Stares at his coiffed pompadour and his sunglasses and his folded hands and wonders what she did to deserve such a good friend. 

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Do what?” Deacon says and she can tell he’s fucking with her because of the barely-there smile and the raised eyebrow. She rolls her eyes. 

“I will tell the voice to fuck off.”

“Good,” he says. And that’s that. 

He turns on the radio and tries again to find the right frequency. It takes a minute; the radio is old and the dial is sticking a bit. It all feels a bit surreal, like wandering through a fog or swimming towards a distant shore that she cannot see, but knows must be there.

Then she hears Desdemona and High Rise talking about her, to her, like everything is as it was. Like it’s the first time for all of them instead of perhaps the seventh or the eighth iteration of this worn out song and dance. And when they confirm that they’re in, in code of course, because there’s no other way to do it if this plan is going to work, she knows it’s real. 

***

It’s nearly noon by the time Nora comes back, looking a little less terrified than she was, but more haggard. Her shoulders are slumped and she’s got that crease between her eyebrows that means she’s thinking too hard. 

“Hey, sunshine,” Hancock says, pulling her close and placing a chaste kiss to her temple. She closes her eyes for a moment, her features smoothing out, and then he’s leaning back and it all seems to rush back over her. He wishes there was another way. He wishes...well, he’d learned a long time ago that wishing wasn’t a wise choice, not in this brave new world of theirs. Now it’s little more than a pretty death wish. 

“10 minutes!” Deacon shouts to the settlement at large and it’s like a live wire running down his spine. He straightens and sets a hand on Nora’s arm. He meets her and Hancock’s eyes and gives a slight nod over to the side where there’s a chance they might not be heard over the commotion. 

Nick leads them away. Nora is gripping his sleeve like a lifeline and he can feel the whisper of Hancock’s ghoulish warmth pressed close to his back. He can’t help remembering what they all got up to just a few hours ago. He can’t help but remember the tangle of limbs, the hot press of their bodies, lips and teeth and gentle fingers prying his clothes away. They hadn’t cared that he was missing most of the parts. They hadn’t cared. They’d just folded him into their embrace and it had been enough catching their eyes when they came, the shine from his golden gaze reflected back at him, their faces twisted up in pleasure. _He_ had been enough, and if everything went tits up today, well, then he would greet death with a smile on his face.

All around them, the other members of the Railroad are packing up the last of their things, kissing each other on the cheeks, and hugging the skeleton crew they have to leave behind. 

“So…” he says. Hancock’s eyes widen a little. 

“Are you about to make a speech?” he asks as he shoots him a cheeky grin. Nick rolls his eyes and toes at the ground a bit with his shoe. 

“Shut up, will ya?” he says, unable to keep the answering smile off his face. “This is serious.”

“Yeah, sure,” John says and threads their fingers together. He gives Nick’s hand a gentle squeeze and he reads it for what it is: an apology of sorts.

When he glances over at Nora, she’s watching them, her green eyes sparkling with mirth and fondness and sorrow all at once, and his stomach flips as his other hand reaches toward her. She latches onto his fingers, her hands warm and dry and shaking in his. She sends him a grateful smile that breaks his heart. 

He forgets sometimes, how good of a liar she can be, but this is a stark reminder. She’s scared shitless and he’s never hated how much people look to her as a leader as he does now. He knows she has to save face in front of these people, but suddenly he wishes they were anywhere but here.

“Look,” Nora says, and suddenly, he knows he doesn’t want to have this conversation. It has an air about it, a feeling that tastes like ashen electricity on the back of his tongue. It feels like some distant memory of pain and forgetting. It feels like saying goodbye. “Whatever happens today, tomorrow, whenever this ends, I need you to promise me something.”

John squeezes her shoulder. 

“Anything, Nor. Anything.”

Nora smiles, but it’s all wrong. It’s full of sorrow that makes his heart ache. It’s full of regret. 

“Don’t be so quick to agree,” she says with a small, broken chuckle as she wipes at her nose, her eyes darting off to their left. Towards where the Institute waits buried under the ground, towards where her son is probably waiting for their inevitable next move. 

“I need you to promise me that whatever happens, you’ll take care of Caleb. Take him to Coastal Cottage. Make a life there.”

“Hey,” Nick says, anger and fear running like fire through him. “Don’t talk like that. We’re all making it out of this. We have to.”

“You have to,” John says with a stubborn twist of his mouth. 

She smiles but it’s still all wrong. That isn’t her smile. That isn’t her. It’s indulgent and fond and so fucking accepting that it makes him let go of her. As soon as he stops touching her, the smile drops off her face, a mask falling out of place and revealing the truth beneath. 

“Please,” she begs, her hands outstretched like she wants to reach for them but can’t bear to close the final distance. 

“No,” Nick says, the sound as sharp as a gunshot piercing the silence stretched taut between the three of them. “You’re talking like you’ve given up, Nora.”

“Look, the only way this works is if you keep fighting. You’re the tip of the spear, right? We’re only as weak as you are. For this to work, you have to stay strong.”

John reaches for her, but she snatches her arm away before he can. She takes a step back, her eyes wide and filled with unshed tears. 

“I don’t need a fucking pep talk right now,” she says, the volume and tone of her voice drawing lingering, curious glances from the people nearby. Her eyes dart away for a second. 

“I don’t need a pep talk. I don’t want one. We need to consider our options here.”

“What is there to consider? Jesus Christ, Nora. Where is this coming from?”

“He sent Winter after me. After all of us. My own son. He won’t stop until I’m dead. So if I do this, I need to know that something good can come of it. I have to know that you’ll be okay. All three of you.” 

She blinks. A single tear trails down her cheek. She turns her head away and brushes the tear away with an impatient, cut-off sigh. 

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you think we’re gonna let you go like that,” John says. He’s so angry he’s shaking. He keeps his distance. Nick’s not sure it’s because he’s scared of what he’ll do or scared of what she’ll do if either of them touch her right now. It’s all so fragile between them, a tenuous shield that will shatter with one wrong word. 

“It’s not your choice,” Nora says, wiping at her eyes again as her lip wobbles. He takes it for what it is: an opening. A small chink in her armor that they can wiggle through. 

“Nora,” he says, voice as gentle as if he were speaking to a wounded animal, “You can’t ask us to do this. How many times do we have to tell you we’re in this with you. It’s not you against the world anymore.”

“I know-,” she starts to say, but he cuts her off with a scoff. 

“No, you don’t. Even after all of this, you still don’t believe it,” he says. It makes his heart ache to give voice to this truth. He knows he’s hurting her and it’s the last thing he wants to do, but here they are. 

“It’s not-,” Nora begins but cuts herself off with a sharp sigh. She rakes a hand through her blonde hair, her eyes turned away again as she composes her thoughts. He knows the exact moment she chooses to relent. She closes her eyes and that crease between her eyebrows relaxes, her shoulder slump, and a disbelieving smile wanders onto her mouth after a quiet second. 

“Fine,” she says, opening her eyes again and staring the two of them down with a shake of her head. “You win, okay?”

“It ain’t about winning, sunshine,” John says with a chuckle. He steps forward and sweeps her up into his arms. He presses a gentle kiss to her temple, smoothing her hair back from her face.

“Well, I’m not about to complain if this is what the loser gets,” she says. She reaches out for Nick and he goes to them without complaint. His coat swishes around their legs as he folds himself into their embrace. 

“You’re a loser alright,” he says, smirking at the brief look of horror and outrage that fills Nora’s features. But he thinks the gibe is worth it when she throws her head back and her laughter fills the air. His motor sputters and he rubs his chest with a wince. She’ll be the death of him, alright. Of both of them, he thinks, watching John watching her. There’s joy in his slate gray eyes, his barely-there lips twisted up into a blinding grin that does nothing for the odd display his motor is making in his chest. 

“Alright, folks, it’s time,” Deacon calls out. 

The smile drops off her face. Her fingers are suddenly too tight in his hand, her blunt nails biting into him. 

“Hey,” he says, squeezing her hand and leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. He lets it linger, pours every ounce of love and warmth into the chaste press of their mouths that he can. “We’ll be right behind you, okay?” 

“Okay,” she whispers. She gives his hand one last squeeze, but she doesn’t let him go. Not yet. 

She glances up at John and gives him her best smile. 

“You got this, Nora,” he says. He cups her cheek, his thumb brushing the skin at the corner of her lips. “Just remember that.”

She nods and then pulls him down by the lapels of his long red coat to press her lips to his. John makes a surprised, but pleased sound in the back of his throat, and Nick smiles to himself, watching the two of them. 

“Come on love birds,” Deacon calls over his shoulder at them. Nora pulls away, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks. 

“I guess this is it,” she says. 

“Yeah,” Nick says. There’s an odd flutter in his chest and he wonders if maybe he should have done one last diagnostic this morning. 

“Be safe,” Nora says. She squeezes his hand, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she looks up at him. “I love you.”

“I love you, Nora. Remember, we’re right behind you.” 

She nods and finally lets go of his hand. She wipes at her eyes with a wobbly smile that makes him want to reach for her again. Instead, he leans down to pick up his bag. As he’s leaning up to throw it over his shoulder, he just catches the brief kiss John presses to her lips. 

“I love you, sunshine,” he says, his smile tender and heartbreaking. 

“I love you too.”

And then there are no more excuses. John squeezes her shoulder and then bends over to gather his bag. He hoists it over his shoulder and sends one last smile her way. 

“Bye,” Nora whispers and the word is so quiet he’s not sure she said anything at all. With one last smile, she turns and walks away so they don’t have to. Nick glances at John and with a nod between them, they turn and make their way to the back of the line of people making their way out of Sunshine Tidings, all too aware of the emerald gaze glued to their backs with every step forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably only going to be two more chapters after this one, loves. 
> 
> Thanks as always to everyone who has left comments, kudos, to everyone who has bookmarked this story. I can't tell you how much it means to me. <3


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